


A Treatise on Breaking and Repairs

by glimmerglanger



Series: oof!au [1]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse of a prisoner, Branding, Captivity, Character Death Does Not Involve Protagonists, Discussion and Consideration of Suicide, Forced to Hurt Someone Else, Forced to beg, Happy(ish) ending, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Mind Control, Some Non-Con Involves Mind Control, Torture, Vaderwan (Onesided and with Non-Con), Whump, Whumptober 2020, recovery from torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:53:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 52,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27042295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glimmerglanger/pseuds/glimmerglanger
Summary: Obi-Wan Kenobi survives for three years on Tatooine before Vader finds him and takes him back to Mustafar, where Vader has already gathered members of the 212th. Things... don't go well for anyone.OR: The oof!au. Heavy whump leading to an eventual happy(ish) ending. Please mind all the warnings. Written for the first 16 days of whumptober, so each chapter has it's own prompt, but they are an interconnected, completed story.
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: oof!au [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2047802
Comments: 249
Kudos: 632





	1. Waking up restrained/shackled/hanging

**Author's Note:**

> Posting from over on tumblr to keep the entire story together, in one place. Please read all the warnings before reading. There is a happy ending, but it takes a long time to get there. 
> 
> Chapter one's prompt was waking up restrained, shackled, hanging.

Pain, Obi-Wan’s oldest and most familiar friend, woke him up. He resisted the urge to groan, swallowing back the sound in his throat. He couldn’t quite… remember what had happened last, before he lost consciousness. There’d been blaster fire, bounty hunters hunting him through the canyons north of his home. He’d deflected a bolt and heard a rumble from above…

He stopped trying to push for the memories. He could dig into the past later, after assessing his current situation. 

He hurt. It was an all-encompassing kind of pain, ringing through his body from his scalp to his feet. The agony was not helped by his current position. He gritted his teeth as the burning pain in his shoulders shot to the forefront of his thoughts.

Someone had… hung him up, it seemed, by the wrists. He couldn’t touch the ground, not even if he pointed his toes, though the effort did set him to swinging, slightly. The movement made his stomach lurch, nausea swimming up through his gut as his head throbbed, sudden and sharp.

Concussion, he decided. He knew well enough what that kind of brain trauma felt like; he’d had plenty of experience getting hit over the head. He couldn’t recall the impact, but, then… short-term memory loss was hardly an uncommon side effect.

He noted the other injuries across his body as best he could, through his swimming thoughts. His hands and arms were nothing but pain, but he couldn’t tell how much of that was from his position. He had no idea how long he’d been swinging, slowly, from his wrists, bonds cutting into his skin, crushing bone together.

His right side hurt and felt wet, from his shoulder down past his hip. His feet were the only thing that didn’t hurt, but only because they’d gone numb. That was, he knew, not a good sign. He kept breathing, as carefully as he could, willing the nausea and dizziness away, trying to focus enough to stretch out his senses.

Obi-Wan could feel things… vaguely. It felt like someone had stuffed cotton into his head. He knew that there were other people around him, but couldn’t sense much beyond that. The Force evaded him, dancing away the more he tried to grab it. He gave up with a gasp, after a moment, swallowing bile.

For a moment he just swung. But that was, honestly, getting him nowhere. He needed more information, and so he cracked his eyes open. It took effort. His left eye felt almost sealed shut, lashes clumped together with filth. His right opened, but everything was blurry through it, distorted. 

Not that there was much to see. He was in some kind of metal room. The walls were all gray. The entire space was poorly lit with a greenish glow. There were some crates around him; in fact, there wasn’t much room. He’d been packed in, like a piece of freight, and something about that made a chill run down his spine.

It was cool, in the little room, but not as cold as a night on Tatooine. Even still, he felt himself shivering, perhaps because someone had taken most of his clothes. They’d left him in his underwear, which felt unpleasant against his skin, soaked with clotting blood.

He thought, disjointedly, that it was fortunate for whoever had captured him that they had a drain under his feet. Based on the reddish smears on the floor, he’d bled quite heavily at some point. He could have made a tremendous mess, a thought that made him wheeze a weak laugh.

The blood drying across his back and chest itched. He wished, dearly, that he could scratch, could do anything but spin, gently, in the cold, cramped room, his thoughts tangled and clumsy.

He tried, eventually, to pull himself up, just a little, to take some of the strain off of his shoulders, but his back exploded into sharp-edged agony during the attempt and he gagged, for a moment unable even to breathe. He listened to a splatter of liquid across the floor. Blood, he realized. He must have reopened a wound.

The sound of the blood hitting metal and the feel of warmth running down his back and thigh filled the entire world for a long time. He lost track of time. Hours could have passed or days or perhaps only seconds when a change in the light of the room drew his attention.

Obi-Wan blinked, lifting his head with a hiss and blinking his stinging eyes. The brighter light came from a door that had opened. A figure stood in the door, tall and hulking, green skinned. Scaled, perhaps. 

Obi-Wan recognized him as one of the bounty hunters from back on Tatooine, which… explained some things, anyway. He couldn’t recall exactly how they’d captured him, but had a fleeting recollection of rocks coming down, of a mountain falling on him….

“Hello,” Obi-Wan rasped, his voice, at least, steady. “I don’t suppose you could let me down?”

The bounty hunter jerked, looking up at him with surprise written across his features. “You can’t be awake,” he growled, a hiss shaping the consonants. He reached for something on his belt. 

Obi-Wan tried to make his mouth quirk into a smile. It hurt. He said, “I think you’ll find--”

“Shut up!” The bounty hunter snarled, delivering a blow to his stomach that left him spinning wildly and finally caused him to lose the battle with the nausea in his gut. He retched, taking some small pleasure in knowing that most of it splattered across his tormentor.

The bounty hunter jerked back, making a disgusted, clicking sound in his throat, snarling, “We are not to listen to a word you say. Lord Vader was  _ very specific _ .”

And the retort Obi-Wan had planned died on his tongue. He forgot how to breathe, for a moment, ribs pinching in on his lungs and hurt, awful dread crawling up his spine and making a home in his head.

Vader.  _ Anakin _ . No--

But it was not, really, a surprise. He knew perfectly well Anakin had been hunting for him. He’d just not expected he’d be caught, he’d thought it would take longer for Anakin to look on Tatooine; he’d hoped, vaguely, that no one ever would, but, after he’d hazarded a few communications with Bail, perhaps he should have expected--

“What the kriff are you doing?” another voice demanded, sharp and higher pitched. He heard a scuffle, but couldn’t focus on it, not through the pain and all the memories, images from Mustafar swimming up into his thoughts, choking him.

“Lord Vader said--”

“He said we were to bring in this kriffer  _ alive _ , idiot.” And, oh, didn’t that just make the cold spreading through Obi-Wan’s veins a dozen degrees chillier. He couldn’t think of a single pleasant reason for Anakin to want him alive. “Knock him out and see to these wounds, before he bleeds out.”

“Yes, ma’am. Time for you to go back to sleep,” the first bounty hunter said, something bitter in his tone, derailing his thoughts. Obi-Wan flinched when the man grabbed him - he’d spun around and could not see his captor - and then there was a cold, sharp bite of metal against his stomach.

Obi-Wan looked down, shocked by the burn that raced beneath his skin, in time to watch the bounty hunter pull a long, thin syringe out of his gut. He opened his mouth, intending to ask what was in the syringe, what they’d done to him, what--

The world got blurry, quickly. And then it got dark, the black closing in from the edges of his vision, all at once. He shook his head, trying to stay awake. He needed to get out, needed to get away, he could not fall into Anakin’s hands, he knew too much about Luke and Leia, about Bail and Yoda, he couldn’t--

The dark swallowed him, utterly and completely.


	2. Collars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this chapter was "collars." Chapter specific warnings for mistreatment of a prisoner and torture.

In his life before, when he’d been someone else, Vader had lacked patience. He’d learned to wait, since he first came to Mustafar. He’d had no choice. There had been nothing to do but wait while his body recovered, at least as much as it was ever going to, while he sent bounty hunters out across the stars to chase rumors and shadows.

He’d never much cared for patience, for waiting. But he was beginning to see that they could have their benefits. The joy of delayed satisfaction finally come to fruition was sweet, he found, when the bounty hunters he’d hired dragged out the battered body of his traitorous old master.

Obi-Wan looked a breath away from dying, sprawled across the hanger of Vader’s new fastness on Mustafar, limp and covered in blood. And, for a single, treacherous instant, the ghost of Anakin Skywalker kicked in Vader’s head, because he’d seen Obi-Wan like this too many times and there was something - something trained into him that made it his first instinct to jerk forward, to offer aid, and--

And he wasn’t Obi-Wan’s dog anymore. He gripped that weak lurch in his heart, harshly, and looked across at the dregs of society before him. “He’s alive,” the leader - a Twi’lek woman with purple skin - said, looking satisfied, “just like you asked. Now, about the other half--”

“Hardly unharmed,” Vader said, used, by now, to the strange sound of his own voice.

The Twi’lek frowned at him, lifting her chin. “He wasn’t cooperative,” she said, gesturing to the taller man by her side, scaled and fierce looking. “Arrok had to… subdue him.”

Vader considered the damage done to his prize and decided that patience was, indeed, a fine quality. But there was something to be said for more immediate gratification. He stretched out a hand, fingers flexing, and heard Arrok choke as he lifted. “Hey--” the Twi’lek started, even as he twisted his hand, satisfied by the crack of bone that echoed as Arrok’s neck twisted, nearly all the way around.

He let the body fall and waved a hand, absently, towards the troopers at his back. “Kill the rest of them,” he said, flatly. They had delivered to him a long-denied prize, but they’d mishandled the situation, obviously.

And, besides, he did not want word of Obi-Wan’s capture getting out. The rebels would be far, far too interested in such information. He gestured to the trooper by his shoulder, the prize of his entire staff on Mustafar, while blaster shots rang out and he felt the rest of the bounty hunters die, one after another. He said, “Take the traitor to the medbay. I don’t intend for him to die. Yet.”

#

Vader went to view his prize, in the small hours of the night, unable to still his thoughts. Excitement, he told himself, stalking through the grey walls of his grey fastness, a shadow amongst all the white-clad troopers. 

None of them spoke as he made his way to the medbay. There were only droids in the space. His Master had decided the troopers had no place tending to the wounded. That wasn’t their purpose. 

He found Obi-Wan floating in a bacta tank, and something went wrong with the processors in his legs, causing him to lurch to a stop. Memories, unwelcome and wrong, sleeted through his head. He’d seen his traitorous old master floating thus so many times. The last time, Obi-Wan had taken a blaster through his side, after shoving the man Vader had been to one side, and--

Vader turned aside, because there was something wrong with his life-support systems. They’d all lurched out of alignment, suddenly, forcing his respiration and heart rate to accelerate, almost dangerously.

He turned on his heel and stalked away from the medbay. It would be better to gloat once Obi-Wan was awake to hear the words, anyway.

#

Vader stayed away from the medbay, during the traitor’s treatment. He was busy, in any case. There’d been trouble on Mandalore again. They were a people that, singularly, did not know what was good for them, always causing trouble, refusing to just listen to the instruction of their betters.

Vader’s Master had suggested simply… cleansing the planet. Mandalore was a beautiful world, or would have been, if it’s irksome inhabitants were out of the picture. And they were, without a doubt, asking for the harshest measures to be taken.

And so Vader did not hesitate to order the executions. He read the reports that returned from the planet’s surface, the death tolls climbing on an hourly basis, until he finally received a surrender from whoever thought they were in charge down there.

He left the Mandalorians to dig their mass graves. There was ever more work to do.

#

The medical droids sent Vader a message, when Obi-Wan was recovered. Vader read over the message thrice before deleting it from his subprocessor. He stood, rising from his rest chamber, enjoying a thrum of excitement through his chest. 

He’d waited for what was to come for nearly three years. 

He did not go directly to the medbay. He took the time to collect the special project he’d ordered constructed, just for his old master, sliding his fingers across the ring of metal, a smile tugging at his ever-chapped lips, under his helmet, where no one could see.

#

The droids pulled Obi-Wan from the bacta on Vader’s orders. They dried his limp body and dragged him forward, leaving him sprawled at Vader’s feet. He looked so small and weak, ribs visible, new skin pink, more of his hair faded to gray.

It was ridiculous that Vader had ever thought there was something impressive about this shell of a man. He was pathetic, and always had been. The Council’s lap dog, too weak to ever do what needed done.

Vader put a foot on Obi-Wan’s shoulder and pushed, rolling him onto his back. The great General Kenobi, nothing more than a tired old man. A bastard who had taken everything from Vader, who had turned Padmé against him, who had poisoned the Council, who had ruined everything---

Servos whirred in Vader’s hands. The leather covering his knuckles creaked. Across the room, a droid made a distressed sound and then crumpled in, crushed by the pressures in Vader’s head.

Vader ignored all of that. He’d waited so long for this moment, so long to look across into Obi-Wan’s eyes and begin his righteous revenge. He saw no reason to delay, and snapped, to the troopers standing by his sides, “Bind his arms.”

He had carefully chosen all the troopers to work around his prisoner. It had been difficult, finding members of what had once been the 212th. So many of them seemed to have perished, and in strange accidents. That was a problem with many of the troopers, one he didn’t understand and didn’t care about.

They’d never accidentally spaced themselves before, after all.

But what did that matter. His Master said they were little more than glorified droids, only less useful. Their organic nature made them weak, failable. They malfunctioned. And they reminded Vader of things he’d rather forget.

The troopers with him bent, obedient and without comment. They rolled Obi-Wan back to his stomach, dragging his arms to the center of his back, fitting on the shackles that Vader had constructed personally, enclosing his arms from wrist to elbow, metal biting against skin.

“Hold him up,” Vader ordered, his respiratory systems malfunctioning as they hauled Obi-Wan upright, though he remained unconscious. He just dangled there, head falling forward, hair still damp with bacta. 

The strands stuck to Vader’s glove when he reached out, closing his fingers in Obi-Wan’s hair and pulling his head up, sneering into his blank expression. This man, this piece of  _ nothing _ , had ruined everything. But that was fine. Vader was, finally, going to have his revenge.

He let go of Obi-Wan’s hair, his head falling forward, all dead weight. One of the troopers - faceless behind their white mask - bounced a finger up and down on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, an unsteady rhythm. Some new defect, perhaps. 

Vader dismissed it. He didn’t need these models to survive for long. Just long enough for Obi-Wan to see them. To fully comprehend his situation and place in the galaxy. The place in the galaxy of everyone he’d ever cared for. They were all where they belonged, now. Under Vader’s heel.

He made himself smile, reaching for the ring of metal at his belt. It fitted perfectly around Obi-Wan’s neck, when he closed it. He’d had to guess about the measurements, but he’d spent so long considering Obi-Wan’s throat, in another life and--

The metal pressed directly to still-damp skin. The collar was a thick thing, wide enough to stretch from just below Obi-Wan’s jaw to his shoulders. There was a large loop in the front, perfect for connecting to the chain Vader had ready. It hummed, as he closed it, turning on. 

And Obi-Wan jerked in the hold of the troopers, as soon as it shut. He flinched, all over, sucking in a shallow breath, just enough to make a sharp, agonized sound. Vader stood there, motionless, watching him struggle his way to consciousness, relishing the way Obi-Wan jerked his head up, the way his eyes were already wide and horrified, the sharp drag of his emotions, twisting through the Force, a connection Obi-Wan wouldn’t be able to feel now, not with the collar around his neck.

The collar did so many useful things. Vader had tried it on, once, himself. Just to make certain that it worked. He knew, better than most, how conniving and tricky Obi-Wan could be. He’d wanted to be ready for this moment, and so he’d worn the hateful thing.

The power field it generated shut out everything. Every single scrap of the Force. Vader had worn it and felt… nothing, nothing at all from the outside world. It had made him aware of the noise in his head, the terrible, splitting agony thrashing within him, trying to get out, the boy he hadn’t managed to kill yet, and--

He’d been screaming, apparently, when a droid pulled the thing off of him. He’d destroyed the droid with a single movement of his wrist and laid on the floor, breathing hard, until he felt centered again.

It was easy to imagine how it must feel to Obi-Wan, shut up in his head, all alone. Cut off from the Force, cut off from  _ everything _ . 

“Hello, Master,” Vader said, mockery in his voice, as Obi-Wan stared at him, small and restrained and  _ weak _ , completely in his power, ready to face all the consequences for his crimes. Vader smiled. “Welcome home. I’ve missed you.”

Obi-Wan just kept staring at him, blue eyes unblinking, getting his feet under him. He should have been screaming. Or perhaps begging for mercy. That would have been  _ appropriate _ . Shown an understanding of his situation. And so, of course, his old master drew in a breath that barely shook, and said, “Well, this is a new look for you, Anakin.”

Anger flared white-hot inside Vader’s skull. That Obi-Wan would  _ dare  _ use that name, would dare try to make him seem small and weak again--

He struck Obi-Wan across the face with the back of one hand, and heard something crack. His metal hands were so heavy, unwieldy. Obi-Wan’s head snapped to the side; he made a little sound, wet, and a moment later drops of blood splattered across the pristine floor.

“You will never use that name again,” Vader said, as Obi-Wan looked up at him through the fall of his hair, his mouth and chin crimson, his cheek already bruising. “I am Lord Vader.”

And Obi-Wan snorted, tongue darting out to poke at his split lip. He said, his eyes steady for all the agony he was trying to control, “You are Anakin Skywalker and--”

His words choked off as Vader lifted a hand, curling his fingers around open air, remembering, terribly, exactly what Padmé’s throat had felt like under his fingers, when Obi-Wan had forced him to kill her. Something was wrong with his system regulators. His chest hurt, horribly, like it was tearing apart. 

He released his grip with the Force, activating the collar’s punishment function, instead, watching as Obi-Wan thrashed against the hold of the clones, who only stood, dispassionately, tightening their grip as his knees gave and he sagged between them.

Vader turned off the collar’s nerve stimulator after a moment, listened to Obi-Wan breathe, his head hanging forward. His mouth twisted with distaste when Obi-Wan spat on the ground. He reached out and gripped Obi-Wan’s hair, pulling his head up and saying, his voice sharp and flat, “You will be punished for any impertinence, Obi-Wan. Now. I have tried to be reasonable with you, more reasonable than you deserve. What is my name?”

Obi-Wan made a sharp sound. A laugh, Vader realized, as one edge of his mouth curled up. “You,” he panted out, his eyes hard as they’d ever been on any battlefield where they fought beside one another, “are Anakin Sky--”

Vader left the collar on until Obi-Wan wasn’t twitching anymore, just dead weight in the clones’ grip. He cleared his throat, then, trying to process the burning in his gut and up his spine. And he said, “Take him away. Secure him as we discussed. I shall deal with him again, later.”


	3. Manhandled/forced to kneel/defiance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used two prompts for this chapter: forced to kneel/manhandled and defiance. Defiance is actually a continuing prompt over the next several chapters. Chapter specific warnings for mistreatment of a prisoner and torture.

Obi-Wan woke up in an unfamiliar cell and shifted, freezing as the movement jarred pain through the entirety of his skull. Memory came sneaking back into his head, creeping in to remind him that he wasn’t dreaming, that none of these was a nightmare.

He’d gotten sloppy. Bounty hunters had captured him, delivered him to Anakin, apparently, and he’d been struck across the face. But that was nothing, really, compared to what else Anakin had done.

Obi-Wan lay on his side, breathing raggedly, adjusting to the - the terrible, empty quiet all around him. He could not feel the warmth of the living Force curled around him. The Force had been the only comfort - the only company - he’d had, for years.

He could not reach it, laying on his side across a cold, metal floor. He felt no other beings, no other minds,  _ nothing _ . There was just… the space inside his head, the dark behind his eyes, when he shut them, swallowing back nausea.

He’d made his peace with himself, long ago. He’d had years to sort out his thoughts and emotions. Being cut off from the Force hurt, deeply and constantly, but he could deal with it, function without that connection. He had before, in the past, and he gritted his teeth, trying to take stock of his condition.

He felt...burned, on the inside of his skin. Everytime he shifted, pain radiated out from everywhere. That was, he assumed, courtesy of the collar Anakin had put around his neck. The metal still felt cold; it had not warmed to body temperature in...however long he’d been unconscious.

His shoulders and arms were a special point of consideration. He flexed his fingers and found them almost numb, pinned behind his back. The bonds around them were too tight; he assumed intentionally. He could feel metal digging into his skin, keeping his shoulders pulled back so far his shoulder blades were almost touching.

The strain of the position burned like fire through the muscles in his back, shoulders, even his chest.

But pain was only pain. It did not control him, and never had. He opened his eyes again, needing to take in the rest of his situation. He was in a small room. All gray. There was a drain near his face; it smelled awful. Not the room’s first resident, then.

Obi-Wan stayed quiet as he shifted around, leveraging himself up off of the ground, at least enough to sit, though it made his head swim. 

It was cold, in his little cell. Anakin had, it appeared, decided not to provide him with clothing. Power games, Obi-Wan supposed, gaze sliding over bland, gray walls and the bland, gray door. There was a light overhead, inset with the ceiling. And that was… it.

There was no cot, no blanket, not so much as a bucket. Just four walls, a door, a light, and him. Oh, and the drain in the floor. Obi-Wan forced himself to breathe, slow and steady. He’d never wanted to see Anakin again, not after - after everything he had done. He’d planned to hide, to just… watch over Luke.

But none of that was to be, now. Anakin had found him. Captured him. He’d have to adjust to his changed circumstances, despite the ache of hurt, exhaustion, and grief in his chest. He folded his legs, stretching his shoulders as much as possible to relieve the strain, closed his eyes, and sank into meditation in the quiet of his own head.

#

Obi-Wan was not sure how much time had passed before someone opened the door to his cell. He looked up, half-expecting to see Anakin, but-- But there were two figures clad all in white out there, instead. Clone troopers, but with all of the color scrubbed off of their armor, every identifying or unique mark removed.

It left a cold ache in his gut, seeing them thus. Even the shinies came out with  _ something _ . Some spark of their personality shining through, despite the best efforts of the Kaminoans and the Senate, and--

“Get up,” one of the troopers said, tone blank and empty. “Lord Vader requires your presence.”

Obi-Wan considered that from all angles and said, forcing a grin, “I think, actually, that I’ll stay right here. Tell Anakin that if he wants to talk to me, he knows where to find me and--”

Obi-Wan braced as they stepped through the door, one after the other. They didn’t say anything when they grabbed him, just gripped his arms and hauled him upright. He locked his knees, resisting the urge to sway on his feet.

“Walk,” one of them said, still emotionless, and Obi-Wan took a breath, held it, exhaled. 

“Fine,” he said, “let’s go, then.” He’d not be dragged through the halls, even if there was no one around left to care. He drew his spine straight and followed one of the troopers out of the door, the other falling in behind him. There were four more troopers, out in the hall. They all had rifles in hand, and they fell into step around him.

He was almost flattered by the degree of security Anakin evidently thought he warranted, even with his arms pinned and cut off from the Force. He kept his eyes forward, trying to memorize the path they walked through the...base, he supposed. He ignored the cold air on his skin, how bare he felt when surrounded by men in full armor.

There was no noise in the halls but their footfalls. No chatter. No echoes of laughter. None of the sounds he’d grown so accustomed to over the course of the war.

It was like walking through a mausoleum, with the dead walking beside him. Force, perhaps he was one of them, perhaps he’d died years ago, and had simply failed to notice. He swallowed, shaking the thoughts aside, and said, “So, you’ve all been keeping well?”

“No talking,” the trooper at his back said, flat.

“I’m just trying to make--”

The butt of a rifle hitting the back of his head hurt just about as much as he’d assumed it would. He stumbled with the blow, feeling a blaze of pain across his scalp, and hot wetness running down through his hair. Two of the troopers walking beside him grabbed his arms and dragged him along.

He shook his head, dazed, and said, “You know, your manners leave--”

The second blow hurt more, but he’d regained his feet by the time they drew to a stop outside a huge door and opened it. He walked through under his own power, ending up in a large, colorless chamber. 

There was… a throne near the middle of the room, and Obi-Wan snorted at the sight of it and the dark figure sitting upon it. 

It was hard to reconcile the figure before him with Anakin, to make sense of the changes. He looked taller, bulkier in the dark suit, And the mask was a ridiculous affectation. Childish. The mask reflected everything in the room, or, at least, distorted versions of everything in the room. The troopers were little more than white smears, and Obi-Wan himself was… small and pale as the troopers pushed him forward, until he was right in front of the ridiculous throne.

Anakin did not move, his breathing systems loud, one of his legs crossed over the other, his hands on the arms of the throne. He said, his voice unfamiliar, distorted by his costume, “Kneel.”

Obi-Wan sneered, locked his knees, and said, “No.”

Anakin rose from his throne, gesturing with one hand, and Obi-Wan braced for the pain from the collar. It hurt, like very few things he’d ever experienced in his life, an all-over pain, arching from one nerve to the next. 

He gritted his teeth as it drove him to his knees, not even feeling the crack of impact with the floor. He would have fallen forward, sprawling face-first across the ground, had not hands gripped tight to his shoulders, holding him where he was as he shook apart, pain tearing through each cell, unending--

Until it stopped, leaving him trembling, gasping for breath.

Fingers gripped into his hair, too thick, and Anakin hauled his head up. “This is where you belong,” Anakin said, oddly-modulated voice still conveying satisfaction. “On your knees before your betters.”

Obi-Wan swallowed the taste of bile out of his mouth and rasped, “Very original, Anakin.”

The pain swept over him. When it passed, leaving him barely able to breathe, he was just hanging from his arms, the troopers to either side of him standing there, still as statues, fingers digging bruises into his skin. 

The collar bit into his throat, jerked taut. He blinked up, vision beginning to blur, into his own reflection. He hadn’t realized there was so much white in his hair, or that he’d lost so much weight. But his eyes, at least, were the same. Anakin had connected a chain to the collar and twisted it around his hand, pulling it tight, his leather glove creaking from the pressure as he hissed, “I think you misunderstand your situation, Obi-Wan.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan said, ignoring the tightness in his ribs, working to keep his tone airy, “I don’t think so. I’ve been in the hands of a mad-man before.”

Anakin tightened his grip, dragging Obi-Wan’s neck forward, the troopers not releasing their grips on his shoulders. He wondered, briefly, if Anakin intended to pull him to pieces. “Always so arrogant,” Anakin growled. “Well, I’ll break you of that, too.”

“You’ll try,” Obi-Wan snapped back, and, oh, the pain left him trembling in his skin. When he could breathe again, Anakin was no longer holding onto him. He’d retreated back, up to his throne, where Obi-Wan could see his shoulders heaving. He did not need the Force to know how Anakin’s emotions would be surging, tangling, high and uncontrollable. 

Good, he thought, from somewhere distant.

Anakin had always made mistakes when he was angry, more focused on lashing out than on what he was doing, than what such a reaction would cost him in the long run, and--

“You need more time to think about your situation,” Anakin said, face turned away. “You do not understand, yet. But that is partially my fault. I have not made you comprehend it. You have no hope of escape. No chance of relief. Your life is… utterly in my hands, Obi-Wan.” His tone changed as he spoke, thickening in a way that sent an unpleasant shiver down Obi-Wan’s spine.

Anakin turned back to face him, and Obi-Wan could picture his smile, that ugly, brutal grin he’d worn on Mustafar, as he said, “I’m going to enjoy our time together. But, first, I’m afraid I must handle some of my… less delightful responsibilities. Take him back to his cell.”

The troopers started moving at once, dragging him back a step, before Anakin called out, “Wait. I almost forgot. I had a surprise for you, Obi-Wan. Some old friends of yours. Come to assist you as you adapt to your new life.” He lifted a hand, gave a lazy wave. “Remove your helmets.”

The troopers dropped him, at once, leaving him to awkwardly balance on his knees, his arms still pinned behind his back. His shoulders throbbed, the deep bruises they’d pressed into his skin aching. He heard the click of their helmets coming off.

Obi-Wan’s gut went tight and cold, even before he looked up, unable to resist the urge. 

He stopped breathing, kneeling there on the cold floor, gaze sliding across a familiar jawline, a mouth he knew too well, the start of a scar on a beloved cheek, and dark eyes--

“Cody,” he gasped, a splintering in his chest that hurt far worse than whatever Anakin’s collar had done to him. He had not seen Cody for - for so long, not since Utapau. He’d cherished the memory of a warm smile, the brush of fingers against his when Cody returned his lightsaber.

It had been the last happy memory he had, the last instant where things had been normal, before the entire galaxy went mad, before--

“You’re alright,” he blurted, hearing the crack of his own voice. He shifted, needing to stand, expecting at any moment for Anakin to activate the collar again, but he didn’t. There was no new pain as Obi-Wan lurched to his feet, wishing he could put hands on Cody’s cheek, his shoulders, wishing-- “Cody--”

Was not even looking at him, gaze refusing to focus on his. He was just...staring forward, blankly. HIs expression was utterly empty.

Horror curled down Obi-Wan’s spine, tinged by every bit of knowledge he’d gathered over the past years. He did not know what Palpatine and Anakin had done to the troopers. Not exactly. But he knew they - they weren’t themselves, anymore. He knew Cody hadn’t been himself on Utapau, he’d known--

He asked, bile burning up the back of his throat, “What did you do to him?”

“Helped him fulfill his true purpose,” Anakin said, and he sounded… ever so pleased with himself. Smug. It was easy to picture him as he’d been, to forget about the suit he wore, because Obi-Wan had heard that tone so many times and never taken it for the warning that it was. “I wanted to make sure he was here, when I found you. You took Padmé from me, Obi-Wan. Now I’ve taken him from you.”

And the satisfaction dripping off of his tone stole Obi-Wan’s voice, just for a moment. He could not look away from Cody’s familiar face - though it looked almost like someone else, stripped of all feeling and emotion. Obi-Wan said, his heart breaking, “ _ You  _ killed Padmé, Anakin. I didn’t--”

“Liar!” He heard Anakin lurch to his feet, but it seemed to come from far away. “You’ve always been a liar! Always tried to mislead me! Well, it isn’t going to work anymore,” Anakin’s last words were a hiss, and, really, the only surprise was that he waited as long as he did to activate the collar.

Anakin left it on until the rest of the world went away.


	4. Branding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this chapter was branding. Chapter specific warnings for mistreatment of prisoners, torture, branding, and non-con.

Things weren’t going the way Vader had planned. He’d imagined, for three years, exactly what would happen once he got Obi-Wan under his control. He’d dreamed about the way his old Master would break, fall apart, realizing the true extent of his failure. He had relished the idea of proving that he had been, all along, the stronger of them.

Obi-Wan, damn him, seemed intent on ignoring the reality of his situation. He would not  _ shut up _ , wouldn’t even use Vader’s proper title, not even after multiple sessions, before Vader was called away to handle a problem on Ryloth. 

Vader was supposed to be getting information from Obi-Wan. About the rebels. About  _ anything _ . Vader hadn’t managed that yet. He kept getting… distracted.

According to the reports generated by the clones and droids that guarded Obi-Wan in his absence, his old master spent his time meditating and performing different exercises in his little cell. Apparently he tried to speak with them, his minders.

Vader smiled at the thought, beneath his helmet. Obi-Wan had ever prided himself on his silver tongue. Well, nothing he said would improve his situation back on Mustafar. He could plead and cajole and beg as much as he wanted.

It would be like pleading with gravity. 

The time spent on Ryloth helped Vader decide on a course going forward, in any case. He considered it after the rebels managed to tear his suit, revealing some of the ruined flesh beneath, gone almost bone pale after so long hidden under leather. He could not bear to look at the rippled scars left behind by the burns, shuddering even as he killed the rebels who had  _ dared _ \--

He had obviously been approaching the situation incorrectly, snagged on the small matter of his name. Obi-Wan could be stubborn about it, if he wanted. He’d learn. Vader would teach him.

And, while he was receiving his instruction, Vader could repay him, in full, for everything he’d done. 

#

The last of the wounds and bruises across Obi-Wan’s skin had faded by the time Vader returned from the campaign. He wondered, walking through his base, if Obi-Wan had realized yet where they were; the temperature controls within the base kept out the volcanic heat, in any case, and cut off from the Force… it was possible he did not. Vader could fix that. Wanted to fix that.

Memories pushed that thought aside as he moved deeper into his fortress. He remembered, so clearly, returning form a campaign, making it back to Coruscant and heading directly to Padmé’s apartments, being greeted with a sweet embrace and sweeter kisses, his beautiful wife who had loved him beyond everything else in the galaxy, until Obi-Wan had turned her against him.

His hands balled into fists, the brief sweetness of the memory turning to ash. Obi-Wan had ruined everything, had ensured there was no Padmé to kiss his brow and soothe his hurts with her soft hands.

Obi-Wan was the only one he had to come back to, now. And there would be no sweetness, between them, no matter what possibilities he’d considered in the past, in a different life.

Obi-Wan had never been willing to return his affections, even then. The man he’d been - Anakin - had deserved care and attention. He would have been good to Obi-Wan, even, gentle with him, kind and giving, but-- But Obi-Wan had never even gazed at him, rejecting him out of hand, turning to another, instead, and--

Well. He no longer had any opportunity to reject anything. Vader had ensured that Obi-Wan had to take what he was given, and the thought eased the raging anger and hurt inside his chest, as he entered his chambers. His orders, delivered before he arrived back on Mustafar, had been followed to the letter, and he smiled at the sight of the stockade erected before his throne.

He inspected it carefully, running a gloved hand over the X that it formed, testing the manacles, pleased with the work put in by 2224. He found he quite liked using 2224 for this work. He’d played a role in taking Obi-Wan away, distracting his focus. Vader couldn’t punish the man 2224 had been; that man was, effectively, dead.

But he enjoyed the knowledge that the man 2224 had been would have rather put a blaster against the side of his head and pulled the trigger than participate in any of Obi-Wan’s just punishments. He could only follow Vader’s orders, now. Only do as he was told, like a good soldier.

Vader turned aside, checking that the rest of his ordered preparations were in order. The furnace made the room hotter than he liked, but it was necessary. He would bear the discomfort. He opened it, more heat rushing out, and gripped the handle of one of the long, metal prods inside, lifting it enough to see the white-hot edges. 

He waved a hand towards the far wall of his quarters, using the Force to activate the controls to raise the view shield. He preferred not to look out, not to see the lava fall below, but…

But he wanted Obi-Wan to see, to know exactly where he was. To understand the wrongs he was paying for, at least in part. Vader had so much to pay him back for.

“Bring him,” he said, still staring into the heart of the furnace, remembering fighting across lava, remembering the agony as the heat consumed him, burning him and setting him on fire just from its closeness, remembering that Obi-Wan left him to die, not even granting him a clean end to his suffering, remembering--

“--just try to remember,” Obi-Wan was saying, as the troopers dragged him into the room, falling silent as he took a step in. Vader felt the sudden flux of his emotions, rising and twisting in the Force: horror and regret and, there and gone, anger.

They passed, too quickly. Obi-Wan’s emotions ever did, and it wasn’t fair, the way he could process them, be rid of them so quickly, when they’d always cluttered Vader’s mind. “Anakin,” he said, sparing Vader from trying to find words that had, temporarily, forsaken him, “What is this?”

“Do you like it?” Vader asked, turning aside from the furnace. “I had it designed for you. Secure him,” he added, to the troopers. He required all of his troopers to keep their helmets off, these days. He preferred that Obi-Wan see their faces, as much as possible. He’d found so many from the 212th, after all.

Obi-Wan struggled against them, as they hauled him towards the stockade, enough so that Vader activated the collar. The troopers took Obi-Wan’s weight when he slumped, hauling him up, fitting one wrist and then the other into the shackles, before kneeling, pulling his ankles into place.

Vader stared, looking at the pale expanse of flesh - he’d provided Obi-Wan with no clothing, and did not plan to start - looking at the scars and freckles that littered his back, strung up for him. He could do whatever he wished. He thought, briefly, of Padmé, her soft arms around him, pulling him to their bed after he returned from the war, and he’d never have that again, but…

“What do you think of the view?” he asked, stepping up behind Obi-Wan, pleased by how much he dwarfed his old Master, these days. Obi-Wan had stolen Padmé from him. It was only fair that he… make up for his theft. Vader put a hand on Obi-Wan’s side, leather dark against creamy skin, slid his palm lower, and felt the wave of revulsion that came off of Obi-Wan, through the Force.

It was stunning and immediate and ever-so-clear through the bond that Vader had not managed to break yet, despite all his efforts. He jerked his hand away, without intending to do so, the taste of vomit in his mouth, suddenly.

Obi-Wan’s voice jerked him out of the strange twist of his thoughts. He sounded agonized when he said, “Do you really make yourself stay here, Anakin?”

The words took a moment to register, and then Vader snarled, activating the collar again, growling out, as Obi-Wan jerked, uselessly, in his chains, “Do not feign towards pity for me,  _ Master _ . I do not require that from you.”

He listened to Obi-Wan gulp at the air, as the pain stopped. Muscles across his shoulders and back jumped and quivered. He mastered himself far too quickly and asked, his voice a rasp, “What is it that you do  _ require  _ from me, then?”

“Have you not realized?” Vader asked, turned aside, back to the furnace. “I require nothing more than I am owed. Justice. Recompense. Payment for everything you took for me.” He opened the furnace, curled his fingers around the handle of one of the brands, and felt his stomach kick over. “You left me to burn,” he said, remembered agony moving through him. “Can you imagine what that felt like?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, his own voice blank. 

Vader scowled, lifting the white-hot metal, displeased with the answer. He’d hoped for begging. He snapped, fury moving through him that, even now, Obi-Wan would act so cool, so calm, “Well, you won’t have to imagine anymore.”

And he gripped the back of Obi-Wan’s hair, forcing his head forward, holding him tight and bringing the brand to his side, listening to the flesh sizzle, smelling char. Obi-Wan jerked against his hold, trying to get away from the hot metal, but there was nowhere for him to go. 

Vader listened to Obi-Wan gasp as he lifted the brand away, the flesh beneath red and ruined. Angry. Obi-Wan had broken out in a sweat, across his back, gooseflesh rising over his spine and shoulders as the pain moved through him, the back of his neck exposed. Vader clenched his fingers tighter in Obi-Wan’s hair, his own breath coming fast and shaky.

He held out the brand and said, “Put it in to heat again. Bring me the next.”

2224 said nothing when he handed over the next brand. “Thank you, Cody,” Vader said, only because he wanted Obi-Wan to  _ know  _ who the instrument of his pain was. He wanted Obi-Wan fully cognizant of what was happening to him, who was hurting him. “Well,” he said, pressing the other brand lower, “is it what you imagined?”

“Very close,” Obi-Wan gritted out, voice not even cracking, damn him, and Vader threw the brand to the side as it cooled, knowing the troopers would retrieve it, enjoying the sound it made clattering across the stone.

“Another!” he snapped, hand out, demanding, and he snarled, “You’re going to pay for everything you did to me, Obi-Wan. Repay everything you took. Everything, do you hear me?”

“I didn’t,” Obi-Wan gasped, straining against Vader’s grip in his hair, just for a moment, “take anything. From you. Anakin.”

And the fact that he’d still lie about it, deny his responsibility for everything that had happened was infuriating. “You took everything from me!” Vader roared, tossing aside the spent brand - most of the right side of Obi-Wan’s back was all raised, weeping burns, Vader’s mark standing on the skin, freckles eradicated, and--

“No,” Obi-Wan ground out, still full of denial, “I--”

“You took Padmé!” Vader cut him off, tired of hearing his lies. “I should be - be back on Coruscant, with her. With our child. But--” He cut off, because Obi-Wan’s emotions did something strange, at that moment, going utterly still and distant, which was--

“You killed them,” Obi-Wan spat, muscles tensing across his shoulders and down his back. Bracing, Vader noticed, but the realization felt far away and unimportant. “You killed your wife and unborn child, Anakin, don’t you remember? It was right down there where you strangled--”

The sound Vader made wasn’t words, it was beyond words, beyond fury and righteous rage at all that had been stolen from him. He wanted Obi-Wan to shut up, to cease the flood of lies, wanted him to pay for what he’d done, to give back what he’d taken, to fully comprehend his situations and--

And Vader had never pawed open the front of his suit, before, tugging at clasps with his robotic fingers. “This is your fault,” he snarled, “all of this is your fault, Obi-Wan. I could have been on Coruscant. With Padmé.  _ Celebrating _ .” 

He gripped at Obi-Wan’s right side, his sensitivity nodes picking up the heat of the burned flesh as he dug his fingers in, hearing the agonized sound it dragged out of Obi-Wan’s throat, and if he thought  _ that  _ hurt--

“To bad,” Obi-Wan gritted out, “that you killed--”

“Shut  _ up!  _ I should be with my  _ wife _ ,” Vader snarled, shoving aside the little voice that pointed out that he’d always wanted this, too. How many times had he thought about visiting Obi-Wan’s quarters on the  _ Negotiator _ ? About pressing him to a wall, hushing his inevitable protests with a kiss, knowing he’d need to convince Obi-Wan, at first, stripping away his clothes and his control--

But that was just because Obi-Wan had made him want it, made him lust after someone that wasn’t Padmé, and then - then  _ denied  _ him. Ignored him, in favor of someone else. That wasn’t Vader’s fault, none of this was his fault. He held onto that knowledge, snarling, “But I suppose  _ you’ll  _ have to do.” 

And Obi-Wan’s legs were already spread, ankles already shackled into place. He thrashed, violently, but between the shackles and Vader’s grip, he barely moved. There was just the harsh, panting sound of his voice, and Vader expected begging, weeping, pleading--

But Obi-Wan didn’t do any of that, he said only, “No, Anakin--”

And Vader felt all the speeches he’d prepared for the moment - because he’d known he was building to this, from the moment he captured Obi-Wan, known he was going to take what was his - slipping from his mind, feeling Obi-Wan’s pain like it was his own across their bond and refusing to allow that weakness to stop him. 

This was what he  _ deserved _ . Vader was no longer sure if he meant himself or Obi-Wan as he shoved in, dry, nothing to ease the way until something… tore, in a hot rush, and--and he snarled, “Anakin is  _ dead _ , you killed him.”

“No--”

Vader tightened his grip in Obi-Wan’s hair, gripped around his throat with the Force, squeezing, not wanting to hear any more of his lies, his twisted versions of the truth, just wanting him to be  _ quiet _ , to be accommodating, for once in his Force-forsaken life to just do as he was told and--and it was so easy to squeeze, the Force jumping to answer his call.

Obi-Wan’s fingers gripped at the stockade, his knuckles standing white against his skin, and Vader tried to make himself think about Padmé, but he wasn’t, he wasn’t at all, she slipped his thoughts completely, as though somehow she weren’t the reason he was doing this, punishing Obi-Wan like this, taking him as he should have been taken and--

And Vader’s cardiac system was malfunctioning again as he fell over the edge. It had been… years, since he’d achieved physical release. He hadn’t touched anyone else, hadn’t felt skin against his flesh, around his cock, gripping him tight and good-- Not since Padmé, not since Coruscant, not since he was Anakin and...and he pulled away, pulled out, roughly, his head full of noise. There was blood across his skin, the only bits of it exposed, he noted, tucking himself away with rough hands. It wasn’t his.

“Get him out of my sight,” he barked, turning away from the way Obi-Wan had slumped against his bonds, the burns across his skin, the way he was breathing shakily, the blood and fluids smeared down the insides of his thighs. His signature in the Force wavered. The marks around his throat were red and purple - black - already, deep, peeking out around the edges of the collar.

Vader looked back, automatically, at a soft, pained sound that he recognized, and watched the troopers unlatch the shackles, watched Obi-Wan just slump over into 2224, like he was someone else, someone who cared, Obi-Wan’s head resting on his shoulder, completely and foolishly trusting.

It was infuriating, and Obi-Wan made a harsh, gasping sound as Vader’s power curled around him again, tightening before Vader mastered himself. It wouldn’t do to kill Obi-Wan. Not yet. He scowled, releasing his grip, noticing, distantly, that there was something wrong with one of 2224’s eyes.

The sclera had turned completely red. Of course, 2224  _ would  _ be one of the clones to show major defects. Vader intended to keep him around as long as possible, after seeing Obi-Wan’s reaction to him. But 2224 was tapping a finger on Obi-Wan’s side again, eye red, because nothing could ever be  _ easy _ .

Vader turned away again, mouth full of bitterness, and said, controlling his tone, “Take him to the healers. I don’t want him to die, yet.” He paused, and added. “Have them look at you, as well.”


	5. Forced mutism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter prompt: forced mutism. Chapter specific warnings for torture, mistreatment of prisoners, branding, and non-con.

Obi-Wan stared across at the wall in his cell for a long time, after the med-droids pulled him from the bacta. He had not thought while submerged in the tank. It had been a relief. All his memories were waiting for him as he came back to consciousness, every burning moment of them.

There was no way to pretend, even for a moment, that it had not happened. The brands across his back pulled each time he tried to move, remaining even after the bacta treatment. He could not see the marks well, not even with his arms free, as they were most of the time in his cell. He shuddered to think what Anakin had burned into his skin, what marks he would bear, for however long he remained alive.

He had known, when he antagonized Anakin, that the results were unlikely to be.... Pleasant. But he’d had no choice. Allowing Anakin to consider too long Padmé’s fate, the fate of his children…. It risked too much. The safety of the children first and foremost.

There was comfort in imagining Luke and Leia safe. Far away from the violence of their father. Obi-Wan would keep himself between them and the rage burning within Anakin, until it consumed him outright. He could keep Anakin distracted, keep his thoughts away from the children, from everyone who needed protection. Obi-Wan knew he could continue making Anakin angry. It had never been a difficult task, and it was significantly easier at the moment.

He closed his eyes and then opened them again, because there was nothing he wanted to see in the dark of his own mind. He’d been aware of Anakin’s….occasionally lustful thoughts for years, since even before Anakin had been Knighted. Anakin had watched him. Wanted him. But he’d never imagined Anakin would--

Well. There were so many things he’d never imagined Anakin would do. Forcing his way into Obi-Wan’s body was hardly the foulest of his actions of late. Compared to genocide, it barely counted, he thought, laughing alone in his empty, barren cell. The alternative was weeping, and he wouldn’t do that.

He knew well enough he was being monitored, ever and always.

It was strange, he considered, absently. He’d felt like a sleep-walker for years, living on Tatooine. He’d gone through the motions of living, a part of him stuck and held back on Mustafar, in that awful instant when he had turned and walked away from Anakin, all of his failures curdling in him.

Obi-Wan felt awake and like himself again, sitting in a cell, subjected to one hurt after another. He knew how to handle torture, knew only one way to deal with it, and it felt natural to fall back into sharp, ill-advised words, to goad his captor, controlling them without them ever realizing what he was doing, to feel almost… confident that he would escape.

He always had before, after all.

He needed to balance himself, if there was to be an escape. Needed to prepare for whatever Anakin intended to do to him next. Luke and Leia were depending upon him, after all. There was no way to reach out and touch the Force, no way to draw comfort from his connection to the universe. There’d not been much comfort there, of late, anyway.

He leaned his head against the wall, stared at nothing, and tried to focus on breathing exercises. He told himself, eventually, that he started to feel better.

#

Anakin left him alone, for days. Long enough that Obi-Wan suspected he’d been called away on some other mission, dancing to the whims of his Master. There was no way to adequately track the days in that featureless cell.

Troopers brought him food, sometimes. Well, they brought him nutrition, anyway, some kind of mush that was grey-ish brown in color, contained in a tube. One of them would hold his hair and jaw while the other forced it into his mouth, giving him no choice but to swallow or choke.

They always dragged his arms back and bound them, first, forcing him face-down against the cold floor, before pulling him upright once more, like he was little more than a sack of cargo.

“Delicious, as always,” he rasped, after they finished one day, specks of whatever the food was caught across his chin. It tasted vaguely of dirt and always set heavily in his stomach. They did not reply, they didn’t even look at him, his men who had been--

Been turned off, inside. Not even their expressions changed, as far as he ever saw. They were blank-eyed marionettes. Like droids, except droids had personality, even with a control bolt. 

Obi-Wan swallowed, his throat tight and pinched closed, wondering if all of the troopers had suffered the same fate; if they’d all been killed, for all that their bodies continued walking around. He’d grieved for his people, for the Jedi, after the genocide…

He hadn’t realized that he had the eradication of two entire peoples to mourn. “Alzo. Booster,” he said, because someone had to remember their names for them, had to remember who they had been, now that they’d had their identities taken away. He supposed he might be the last person in the galaxy who both could and would. “I’m so sorry. For what they did to you.”

Alzo didn’t turn or hesitate as he walked through the door. Obi-Wan thought Booster did, thought he froze, for just an instant, but… Well. He knew he was looking for shreds of hope, regardless of whether or not they actually existed. 

#

The troopers cared for his other physical needs on a sporadic basis. Sometimes they dragged in a hose and sprayed him down, the water icy cold and stinging across his skin. The pressure was so high that he had to turn his shoulders against it, but at least it cleaned him off.

Sometimes, they held him in place and shaved his face, uncareful with the razor. They did not trim his hair; it grew down over the tops of his ears, lower, shaggy. He doubted he’d recognize himself, without a beard and with such tangled hair, but that mattered little. There were no mirrors, in his little cage.

There was nothing at all to offer a distraction, just his healing wounds and the weight of wondering what Anakin had planned for him, next.

#

Obi-Wan felt almost certain weeks had passed by the time the troopers dragged him from his cell again. He’d gotten familiar with the walk through the halls of Anakin’s mountain fastness, to his throne room. He made absent conversation as they walked, the utter silence of his companions a weight in his chest.

They seemed to have grown used to his chatter. Or, at least, they no longer struck him for it. Perhaps Anakin had reprogrammed them.

Considering that option distracted him, if nothing else, from what he could guess was coming. Anakin waited already in the room for him, sitting on his throne, one leg crossed over the other, expression hidden behind his dark mask.

He was speaking to Cody, as Obi-Wan was dragged in, Cody standing there at attention before him, straight-backed and blank-faced and-- It was all wrong, all of it, even just catching the end of a conversation where Cody reported what had happened in Anakin’s absence. Obi-Wan wondered, fleetingly, if Anakin really left Cody in charge, if it were only another barb, meant to cut into Obi-Wan.

The...harness they’d chained Obi-Wan to last time remained where it was. It pulled at his attention, heavy as gravity. Obi-Wan fought to control his expression as Anakin stood and said, “Restrain him.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Obi-Wan said, speaking as Cody walked over to him, though he expected no answer. He fully anticipated that he would be ignored utterly, and so he was not disappointed as his arms and legs were dragged into position.

“Aren’t you going to tell me I don’t have to do this, either?” Anakin said, the mechanical sound of his voice still jarring and wrong. He’d stood and crossed the room, apparently, staying behind Obi-Wan’s back. 

“Would it do me any good?” Obi-Wan asked, as the wall-covering raised across the room, revealing the fires of Mustafar, so far below. The lava fell in the distance, leaving Obi-Wan feeling cold.

“No,” Anakin said, leather-covered fingers trailing across the top of Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “I’m no longer swayed by your lies.”

“I’m not the one lying,” Obi-Wan said, and Anakin snarled behind him, stepping away. Obi-Wan felt the heat when the furnace opened. He wondered how much of his skin Anakin intended to burn this time. He kept talking, because he knew no other way to be, “Successfully murder anyone for your new master?”

The pain was sudden and swift, directly over his spine, the metal so hot it felt almost cold as ice, at first, tendrils of agony spreading  _ everywhere _ . “I protected the Empire,” Anakin snapped, leaning his weight against the brand, “I made people safer! Secure!”

The brand came off his skin, though it really changed nothing about the level of his pain. He listened to the metal clatter across stone, considering, bitterly, that once he would have hoped desperately for Anakin to find him, in this situation. Once, he would have held out hope that Anakin - above all others - would rescue him.

He said, around the bitterness in his throat, “Ah. The way you made our people safer?”

“The Jedi weren’t my people,” Anakin snarled back and - and the next burn was higher, still on his spine, a blaze of agony. “They were nothing but a corrupt cult. Religious fanatics who went power mad during the war. They were traitors--”

“Traitors to  _ what _ ?” Obi-Wan cut in, the lies pouring from Anakin’s mouth too much for him to take. He panted, twisting his wrists against the bonds, body shaking as Anakin pressed a fresh brand to his skin and it  _ hurt _ , Force--

“To the Republic,” Anakin spat, and Obi-Wan laughed, shakily.

“Oh,” he gasped, his thoughts getting sharper with pain, “the Republic you  _ destroyed _ ?  _ That  _ Republic, or do you mean--”

“Shut up!” Anakin snarled, and made his point by curling tendrils of the Force around Obi-Wan’s throat, squeezing. Obi-Wan sipped at the air, unable to breathe deeply, feeling his pulse pounding against his skin, giving a strangled cry as Anakin burned him  _ again _ , Force, he’d almost reached Obi-Wan’s neck--

“The Jedi  _ betrayed  _ the galaxy. They were dangerous. Self-centered. Even before the war, they - they only cared about themselves. But I saw through them, with the help of my  _ new  _ Master. And - and we  _ stopped  _ them. We gave the Jedi exactly what they deserved, Obi-Wan. Just like you’re getting what you deserve.”

He released his choking grip, finally, and Obi-Wan slumped, gulping at the air, smelling the burned char of his own flesh, shivering all over and unable to stop it. He’d gone into shock, he knew. There was no way to avoid it without the Force to draw on, the tell-tale signs of it a betrayal by his own body.

He thought how fortunate it was that he seemed to have set Anakin off on a speech, one that did not require further input from anyone else. “It was right, what I did,” Anakin was shouting, pacing, by the sound of his voice, no longer right at Obi-Wan’s back, “Necessary. And - and my success proves that the Jedi deserved it. The Force smiled upon me. Blessed my purpose. It was the will of the Force. Their - their death proves that.”

Something shifted in Obi-Wan, beyond the pain, beyond the numb horror of the past years. Something that had always been within him, a fierce little ball of whatever made up his soul, stirring his tongue, knowing it would drag Anakin’s attention back, knowing it would mean more pain…

“By your logic,” he panted, inhaling the smell of char and ruin, unable to stay silent while Anakin deluded himself even further, “I suppose that means what happened to your mother was the will of the Force.”

There was a moment of utter silence. Utter stillness. Obi-Wan’s mouth twitched up in one corner as he stared out into the falling lava, bracing with a jagged grin.

Anakin snarled, something low and deadly in his tone, “What did you just say?”

Obi-Wan wetted his bottom lip, unblinking, deliberate in each word he spoke. “I said: you must believe, then, that the successful murder of your mother proved that she deserved--”

Anakin made an awful sound, bestial, and something gripped around Obi-Wan’s throat, his mouth, the Force digging into bone and muscle. “Take it back!” Anakin roared, even as the shackles around Obi-Wan’s wrists tore open, pried apart with the Force.

Obi-Wan slumped, opening his mouth to refuse, but no sounds issued from his throat, Anakin’s grip only tightening, crushing things--

“I said: take it back!” Anakin snarled, grabbing his shoulder, jerking him around and the first blow caught Obi-Wan by surprise, spinning him and dropping him to the ground. Anakin followed, fingers in his hair, tilting his face up into another blow.

“How dare you!” Anakin spat, following one blow with another and Obi-Wan lost track, the impact of metal against flesh felt almost like it was happening to someone else, someone far away from him, Anakin’s continued demands that he apologize, that he recant everything, take back his lies, were barely even noticed.

He could not speak anyway. Anakin was… crushing things. In his throat. Tearing them to pieces. He could not make a sound, not as Anakin bodily lifted him, throwing him against the stockade, pressing him into the sharp edges of the metal, and all the pain blended together into one huge, twisting nightmare.

Eventually, the dark reached up and took him away, even while Anakin was still thrusting into him. 

Obi-Wan fell into the black and appreciated the relief.

#

Obi-Wan woke up in his cell, most of the hurts gone. For a moment, after waking, he considered that perhaps he’d only dreamed his last run-in with Anakin. But his throat hurt, still, strange and deep. He cleared it and tried to rasp out a “hello” to no one. He made no sound at all, and shuddered.

He did not bother trying to leverage himself up off of the floor. He lacked the energy for it.

He wondered, smelling bacta drying in his hair, why Anakin had simply not killed him.

He was still wondering when Tich and Sweeper brought his breakfast. Obi-Wan nodded at them, old habit, since he could not offer a proper greeting. They alternated his care, the men on the base. Obi-Wan believed there to be around three-dozen of them, but… Some had disappeared, since he’d been delivered.

He shuddered to think what had happened to them.

Tich and Sweeper shackled him and hauled him up, pushing his shoulders against the wall. He leaned against Tich’s hand, when Tich gripped his jaw, helpless to stop himself looking for some scrap of comfort, and Tich’s index finger tapped, blaster-fire fast, against his cheek.

He wanted to say: I tried to ask for help, but trying to speak at all was a fresh agony. He winced, used to the fingers in his hair by now, and said nothing. They wouldn’t have done anything, anyway, even if he’d been able to plead for assistance.

And so Obi-Wan just stared forward, waiting for whatever they were going to do to him next.

#

Days passed. Vader had him dragged in and dragged out, but seemed to grow irritated and distracted when he realized that Obi-Wan could not speak. It took… significant effort before Vader believed that Obi-Wan was not just refusing to make a sound. Once he did, Vader ordered the troopers to take him back to the medical bay, for repairs.

Obi-Wan laughed soundlessly as he was dragged along. He’d always assumed Anakin would be pleased to never have to listen to him again. There was something amusing, darkly, about Anakin’s drive to return his voice.

Perhaps it was only because he hadn’t yet heard Obi-Wan screaming.

Nor would he, even if Obi-Wan’s voice were returned. Those thoughts chased each other around Obi-Wan’s head as they got closer and closer to the medbay. He hung between Cody and Booster, too damaged to walk under his own power, his legs giving finally halfway down the hall.

And it was a surprise, strange and jarring, when Cody hesitated and then shifted, movements oddly fluid for how stiff he normally moved, and just… lifted him. Cody had carried him off of battlefields before, too many times.

He’d joked, towards the end of the war, that it was getting to be a habit.

Perhaps it had. Perhaps it was muscle memory, the way Cody just pulled him up. It certainly was habit that had Obi-Wan dropping his head onto Cody’s shoulder, taking comfort in the familiarity of the contact, his eyes burning, all at once.

He wept not in front of Anakin. Wouldn’t. But the tears streaked down his face, unheeded, as Cody carried him into the medbay, finger tapping erratically against Obi-Wan’s skin. And Obi-Wan wanted to tell him it was alright, that Obi-Wan would find a way to get them all free, but he had no voice, no way to speak the words into being.


	6. No more/Stop, please

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "no more/stop, please" prompt. Chapter warnings for torture, non-con, being mind controlled into hurting someone else.

The med-droids rarely had reason to file reports on Mustafar. Vader didn’t care what they did to the troopers. He left those reports, taking a twisting sort of pleasure in it, to filter through to 2224, who… Likely did nothing with them. Why would it? Vader demanded only reports on Obi-Wan’s progress, as time went past.

Apparently, he had died twice while they worked to preserve his life after Vader crushed his throat to make him stop speaking about Shmi. Still, they had managed to get him stabilized, managed to keep him alive, which was as it should be. He was only permitted to die when Vader decided he was, and--

And Vader was not ready for that moment, regardless of Obi-Wan’s foolish decisions. He tossed the report aside, ignoring a comment about severe damage to Obi-Wan’s vocal cords - apparently they were not sure they could repair them - fury curling around in his gut and through his bones. He’d known Obi-Wan was a monster, but to say such things about his  _ mother _ \--

She hadn’t deserved anything that had happened to her. Her entire life had been a punishment for crimes uncommitted. Finding her in the village of the Sand People had proven to Anakin that the galaxy needed direction, a strong hand, someone to make things right--

He swallowed, his respiratory and cardiac systems entirely out of order, the image of his mother chained up, brutalized, rising in his mind, memories he didn’t want and fought so hard to bury. He shut his eyes, shaking his head, and when he opened them again he was staring at the rack where Obi-Wan had hung.

For an awful, lurching moment, his mind supplied an image of his mother, hanging there, instead, and of Obi-Wan strung up in the Sand People’s hut, and he lurched a step backwards, a scream caught in his throat as he lashed out with the Force.

No one came to check on him, despite the cacophony of noises that must have echoed out from the room. When he did call the troopers in, later, he only said, “Remove that. I never want to see it again.”

He listened, staring out at the lava, as they dragged the twisted pieces of the rack, still covered with Obi-Wan’s blood - not his mothers, never his mother’s, he could have never hurt her, never - away.

#

Obi-Wan had done something to him, Vader realized, later, when he found himself down in the infirmary, staring at the bacta tank where Obi-Wan floated, healing slowly from the latest wounds he’d  _ forced  _ Vader to inflict upon him.

Obi-Wan had - had gotten into his head, somehow. He must have found a way around the collar. He’d used the poison of his words to steal Vader’s ability to think clearly, to rest. He could not stop conflating the images of his mother and Obi-Wan, which was -- ridiculous. 

They were nothing alike.

Obi-Wan had never done anything but fail him, but turn Padmé against him, but try to hold him back and confuse him, diverting him from his true purpose. Vader stared at him, fists clenched, and resolved to make Obi-Wan pay for everything he’d done.

Including the new nightmares, playing out each time Vader closed his eyes. Vader tried to make him pay, after the med-droids repaired him, but his voice wouldn’t work, even after the droids said he was recovered. Vader sent Obi-Wan back, for more work, eaten up by the nightmares and memories echoing in his head.

He needed to make Obi-Wan pay. Somehow. He had time to think of something appropriate, while Obi-Wan recovered.

#

The nightmares remained, terrible, confusing things put in his head by Obi-Wan, through another campaign. Vader returned to Mustafar in a foul temper, feeling so full of anger at the injustice of it all that he almost vibrated with it. 

He found he did not care if Obi-Wan had recovered or not, barking an order that Obi-Wan be delivered to him, immediately. He’d taken injuries, been  _ sloppy _ , during the campaign. Some of the rebels had  _ gotten away _ , because Obi-Wan would grant him no peace, had him spinning out of control.

Well. He fully intended to regain his control of this entire situation. Of Obi-Wan. Of his thoughts. He opened the windows to the lava flow below, all the way, wanting the convective heat to blow in around him, wanting the charred air to fill his lungs. He stood before the window, his hands clenched at his back, feeling just as full of fire and upheavals as the volcano, so far below.

He did not turn to look, when the door opened.

“I see you’ve redecorated, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, his voice strange. Hoarse. Quiet, only barely over a whisper. Infuriating as his words.

Anakin spun on his heel, snarling, feeling the hot air lift and tug at his cloak as he spat, “I’ve indulged your impertinence long enough, old man. You  _ will  _ call me by my proper title.”

Obi-Wan stared at him, blue eyes unblinking and faded. There were dark bruises under his eyes. His cheeks cut sharp, especially without any beard to hide them. Troopers held his arms. 2224 gripped the chain at his neck. And yet,  _ still _ , Obi-Wan stood with his back straight and his shoulders back, his head high, as though--

As though he had any right to dignity. 

Obi-Wan said, staring right at him, his voice quiet and raspier than Anakin had ever heard it, “I will call you by your name. It doesn’t matter what you do, you cannot avoid who you are.  _ Anakin _ .”

Something hot and pure as lightning ran down the back of Vader’s back, dug teeth into him and spread through his gut. He could not allow Obi-Wan to keep mocking him in his own place of power. He could not allow Obi-Wan to have this hold on his dreams, to hurt him, somehow. He took a step forward, growling, “I am Lord Vader.  _ Anakin  _ is dead.”

That weak failure of a boy was gone. He’d burned down in the lava flows. All that had remained was the core of Vader, strong enough to do what needed done, to herald the galaxy towards order and peace. 

Across from him, Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, managing to look supremely unimpressed, chained and bound and otherwise naked, utterly at Vader’s mercy - he’d proved that over and over - and  _ still refusing to acknowledge his utter defeat _ . 

But why would he, Vader thought, sharply. He’d obviously done something. Struck out at Vader’s mind. Planted nightmares there, left him dry heaving as he woke up, plagued with - with the ghosts of guilt and regret and--

And he had no room for those weak emotions in his life. He would burn them out, destroy them in the fire. Destroy Obi-Wan in the same fire, if required. If he would not be remade into an appropriate shape. He considered the plans he’d made, during the campaign, breathing hard, hesitating for just a moment as he said, “I give you one last chance. Kneel and greet me properly.”

Obi-Wan drew in a little breath, scowled, found some way to straighten his spine yet further and said, “You are Anakin Skywalker and you will never--”

Vader activated the collar and watched him fall, watched him spasm across the ground, watched him struggle for breath, when the pain stopped. “I tried to be reasonable with you,” he said, the heat of Mustafar curling around him, the heat of his rage kindled within him. “Remember that. But, obviously, you require a firmer hand. You  _ will  _ call me Vader, before we leave this room.”

Obi-Wan said nothing, rocking himself up onto his knees, blood dripping from his nose, splatters of it across the ground. “I will  _ never _ ,” he rasped, mouth quirking, infuriating.

Vader exhaled, harshly. His hands clenched and his gut burned with anger, fury that Obi-Wan would push him to this, would not just accept-- “You’ve brought this on yourself,” he said, “and so I’ll let you stop it, at any time. Call me my proper name, and you may return to your cell.”

“I--”

“I don’t let  _ my  _ men enjoy themselves nearly enough,” Vader barked, talking over Obi-Wan. He could guess what Obi-Wan had to say, anyway. “2224,” and, oh, he liked the way just  _ saying  _ the numbers made Obi-Wan suck in a breath, something in his posture stiffening. “I need your assistance.”

“Don’t hurt him,” Obi-Wan said, pushing to his feet and swaying once he got there, and for a moment Vader just stared at him. There was something darkly amusing about Obi-Wan trying to step in front of 2224, trying to protect an empty vessel. Especially considering what Vader planned. “Anakin, leave him--”

“The prisoner is being disruptive. Pacify him.” Vader enjoyed the brief flash of despair across Obi-Wan’s expression, the swell of it through the Force. Obi-Wan turned, looking towards 2224, just in time to take a blow across the jaw. He made a sound, low and stunned, covered by the impact of a fist into his gut.

“Wait--” Obi-Wan panted, words cut off when 2224 kicked his knee out, sending him down. 2224 was moving jerkily. Hesitating before each blow. Malfunctioning again. “No, this isn’t--”

Vader watched and listened, respiration increasing, as Obi-Wan tried to curl away from the blows, as 2224 followed him down, pulling him around, blows landing over and over and  _ still  _ Obi-Wan made no move to beg, to listen to instruction, to--

Well. Vader had known he’d likely require… further convincing. He grimaced.

“2224, you’re programmed to recreate,” Vader said, the words tasting like ash. “Aren’t you? Under Order 312.” Sidious had insisted that such actions could assist with appropriately subduing an entrenched populace. Vader had seen it work, on Ryloth. He could remember the way the insurgents there had screamed. Cried. Wept--

2224 stopped, froze in place, one fist drawn back still, black glove wet with blood, hand shaking. It was a broken damn thing, unable to process a question  _ and  _ continue a simple task. Vader scowled. He’d have disposed of the model already, if merely seeing 2224’s ugly, scarred face didn’t make Obi-Wan’s emotions twist, every time.

“What’s Order 312?” Obi-Wan panted, voice thick with pain, but neither of them answered.

“Yes, Lord Vader,” 2224 said, after a long beat for processing, with less emotion than a droid, expression utterly and completely blank. Still, Vader could not help but notice that its index finger was twitching, jerkily, and for no apparent reason. There was a smear of blood, under its nose.

Defective.

Perhaps Vader would have to make Obi-Wan watch as it was decommissioned. Permanently.

The thought held no small measure of appeal. But it could wait. At least a little while. He knew, very well, how his old master had  _ felt  _ about 2224. Before. He worked his jaw, once, twice, and then said, “Execute Order 312 on the prisoner.”

“What’s--” Obi-Wan started again, words cutting off when 2224 grabbed him. “Cody?” he said, sounding confused, feeling  _ lost  _ in the Force. There was a sharp little thrill of  _ hope  _ through him, at every touch of 2224’s hands, and Vader felt his lips pull back from his teeth.

He’d put that hope out, every single spark of it. 

Obi-Wan jerked as 2224 gripped his shoulders, shoving him over onto his stomach. Vader watched Obi-Wan’s chin hit the floor, heard him make a sound, felt his spreading alarm. “No,” he panted, struggling in earnest, and Obi-Wan was strong, had always been strong, even without the Force, but… his arms were bound, he’d just been beaten, viciously.

And Vader was almost certain the troopers had always been stronger.

“Stop! Don’t--Cody!” Obi-Wan’s voice cracked, as 2224 put a hand on the side of his head and pressed down, its other hand pulling robotically at its armor. “Please,” Obi-Wan gasped, voice failing with another crack, and, oh, he was shaking, Vader noticed, shaking all over, his eyes gone white all the way around, breath sharp and choppy. “Cody, don’t!”

2224 hesitated. Froze into place. Vader scowled and snapped, “I gave you an order! Carry it out!” And Obi-Wan cried out, sharp, ragged, when 2224 pushed into him, without a word, without a single move towards kindness. Vader watched, stared, unwilling even to blink, waiting for Obi-Wan to give in. Waiting for him to break. Waiting--

He made an awful, guttural sound, when 2224 bottomed out, still pressing Obi-Wan’s face down, its other hand gripping at Obi-Wan’s hip, that index finger still tapping, endlessly, even as it set a fast, brutal pace. And Obi-Wan didn’t beg. Didn’t break. Instead, he gasped, “It’s not you. It’s not you -- it’s--this isn’t--”

“Is this what it was like?” Vader asked, making himself watch. How often had he wondered, over the course of the war? How many times had he imagined his high and mighty master, bent over and fucked,  _ taken _ . It had irritated him, at the time, that Obi-Wan would let someone else touch him, that he’d spread his legs and beg, when he hadn’t wanted Anakin. It had left him hard and aching, back then.

It still did, he found, cock twitching beneath his suit as he watched and listened.

Obi-Wan had never handled himself properly. Never realized what was good for him. Vader snarled, listening to the sounds Obi-Wan made, gutted and soft. Wet. Refusing to answer.

“Have you missed this?” Vader demanded, taking a step forward, listening to 2224 pant like an animal, just rutting mindlessly into a warm body, still with no expression on its face, the white of its left eye staining red. Perhaps that was what it had always been like, Vader could imagine that. Vader spat, “I suppose 2224 deserves permission to have you like this whenever it likes, that’s what you let it have before, isn’t it?”

Obi-Wan’s mouth worked, soundlessly. Resisting, even still.

Vader went to one knee, watching, and snapped, “Answer me!”

Obi-Wan spat towards him, instead of saying anything, salvia pinkish with blood, splattering across his boot, expression twisted up as, behind him, 2224 made the smallest sound and stilled. Just… stopped moving, completely, the task finished.

“Go clean yourself up,  _ Cody _ ,” Vader ordered, eyes on Obi-Wan as 2224 pulled out of him, taking in the flash of pain across his expression. He collapsed sideways as 2224 rose, laying there, sprawled across the floor, exposed and bloody already, drawing his legs up, hunching around them.

Vader swallowed, harshly, and said, bile in his mouth, “Say my name.”

Obi-Wan laughed. It was a terrible, cracking sound. His eyes barely focused when he said, in a hoarse whisper, through a crooked smile, “Anakin Skywa--”

Vader activated the collar, for just a moment, white-hot rage moving through him, and gripped at Obi-Wan’s shoulders, shoving him flat onto the ground. He felt the way Obi-Wan jerked and jumped, beneath him, noticed the slickness of blood and spend, and -- and refused to hesitate.

Obi-Wan wasn’t moving, by the time he finished. Vader stood, feeling strangely shaky, split open inside, and looked down at the limp body. Obi-Wan was just… staring forward, breath shaky and hitching. Vader was sweating, heavily, under his suit. He could smell the stink of himself, and hated it, one more thing caused by Obi-Wan.

He stumbled back a step, but there was no one to see but the troopers. And they did not care. He said, turning away, “Take him away.” He added, as he heard them dragging Obi-Wan towards the doors, “To the med-droids. But tell all the troopers to enjoy themselves. After all, one of you is the same as all the rest.”

And, perhaps, that would be enough to teach Obi-Wan his place.

His mouth tasted of ash. He swallowed it down into his gut.


	7. Forced to beg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "forced to beg" prompt. Warnings for torture, allusions to non-con, character death (not main characters), and being mind controlled to do awful things.

Obi-Wan laughed, shakily, when he woke up again in the cell. The sound just slipped out, and something about the tone of it made him clench his teeth shut, swallow it back. It soured in his chest, held tight within him as he breathed raggedly, trying to find balance and--and succeeding, after too long a moment.

He thought about leveraging himself off of the floor, but could see no point to it. He pulled his legs up, instead, making himself small, shifting to wedge himself further into the corner.

All the wounds were gone. Every single one of them, wiped away again by the med-droids. The sudden lack of them was jarring, confusing. It made everything that had happened feel more like a dream. Like a nightmare.

But even his nightmares - foul as they were - never managed to be so viscerally horrible. He stared at the far wall, trying very hard not to remember the way Cody - it wasn’t Cody, it hadn’t been Cody, not _really_ , just his body used as another way for Anakin to rape him \- had shoved into him, held him down and--

He bit his tongue until blood flooded his mouth and then he swallowed it, grounding himself on the pain and the nauseating taste of salt and copper. He hadn’t had many pleasant memories to keep him company, during his exile. He’d barely dared allow himself to remember softer touches, promises of what they might do after the war, wants bubbling between them…

Once, he’d imagined taking Cody to his bed, after - after everything. When there were not so many responsibilities on them. When he could be sure, utterly, that it was what Cody wanted, not just rank, or - or anything else. He’d imagined kissing Cody softly, taking their time, sharing touches that didn’t hurt at all, and-- Anakin had taken that hope and made it something foul and horrible. There’d been no kisses, there’d been only - only pain and --

Pain and, he considered, swallowing blood, his mind looking desperately for anything else to focus on, the off-rhythm tapping of Cody’s index finger against his hip. It had been the only thing he could focus on that didn’t hurt, taking himself out of his own head, there in Anakin’s torture chamber.

The tapping had made no sense, not in the room, when horror had driven thought from Obi-Wan’s head. But...but he had time to consider it, further, staring at nothing, remembering despite all of his best efforts.

Memories crawled into his head, recollections from the war, from hunkering down beside Cody behind a makeshift barrier, gesturing instructions, preparing to spring out on the droids closing on their position, Cody knocking his fingers against the top of Obi-Wan’s thigh in the same pattern and--

And they’d developed the short-hand language themselves, at first just to kill time when they were stuck on one miserable world or the other. It had made sense to have signs of their own; the Separatists were always cracking Republic codes. Obi-Wan thought, with the benefit of hindsight, that had probably been intentional on Palpatine’s part.

So, they’d made their own language to speak silently in battle, to communicate plans and ideas quickly. 

Obi-Wan sat up, his heart lurching in his chest, all at once, as memory shoved together the facts inside his head, leaving him gasping. 

Because Cody had been tapping code onto his hip,  _ their  _ code - the 212th’s code - the language not even Anakin had ever learned. “No,” he’d said. “No,” over and over and over and over, against Obi-Wan’s skin.

Obi-Wan lurched to his feet with nowhere to go, bile burning up the back of his throat, his heart clenched hard in his chest. He did not know what had been done to the troopers. He’d been afraid to hope it could be undone. But-- but Cody  _ remembered  _ something. And he’d said “no,” over and over again. He’d talked to Obi-Wan. He’d--

He was  _ in there _ , somewhere.

And that changed  _ everything _ .

Obi-Wan stood there, breathing heavily, and tried to determine what he was possibly going to do next. He tried to remember if he’d - he’d told Cody it was alright. If Cody were in there, if he’d been tormented, too, had Obi-Wan said the right things? Had he said  _ anything _ ? His memories were a blur of pain and confusion. But he thought he had. He held onto that thought, tightly, as he tried to plan his next steps.

#

There was not much Obi-Wan could possibly do. He did not know where Anakin had gone and did not much care. He braced, every time a trooper entered the room, recalling Anakin’s last words, but…

None of them made any move to touch him in such a way. He wondered if the troopers had simply not relayed Anakin’s orders, or if the very wording just made no sense to them in their current state. What did they know of joy, he wondered, watching them file in to feed him.

Still, he tapped out, quickly, “Thank you,” on Cody’s thigh, when they fed him, and felt him go still all over for a moment. And it was enough to kindle the failing sparks of hope inside Obi-Wan’s chest.

Cody was in there, somewhere. They were all in there, somewhere.

Obi-Wan would get them all out. Because if Cody had retained some piece of himself… There was no reason to believe it wasn’t true for the rest of them. Others had tapped against his skin, he recalled, shivering as his thoughts raced. They were still in their minds. Somehow.

And like hell was Obi-Wan going to leave him men to suffer this un-death, this un-making of all they were. He’d sworn to protect them, long ago. He’d failed in so many of his vows and duties. He wouldn’t fail  _ that  _ one.

#

Obi-Wan had not managed to escape by the time Anakin returned. He braced himself as the troopers came for him, pulling him to his feet and hauling him through the base, wondering what new horrors Anakin had devised to unleash upon him.

Anakin had left the viewscreen open, again. The contact turmoil of Mustafar filled the room with angry, red light. It was a reminder, every time, of all of Obi-Wan’s mistakes and failings. He had failed to keep Anakin from falling to the Dark. And then he had failed to take the final, necessary step there on the edge of the lava.

He’d paid for his mistakes, but so had the rest of the galaxy.

He wouldn’t fail again, if given the chance.

He shook those thoughts aside as Anakin said, “I do hope you’re going to be more reasonable this time, old man.”

“I doubt that,” Obi-Wan replied. Talking still hurt. And he was no longer sure if his voice would ever return to its normal state. “I think you rather enjoy having an excuse to inflict pain, don’t you? If I didn’t provide you with one, you’d have to go to all the trouble of manufacturing a reason to hurt me.”

Anakin made a sharp sound, turned half-away and snapped, “Get on your knees.”

Obi-Wan sighed. He wondered why they had to keep engaging in this song and dance. They both  _ knew  _ he wasn’t going to kneel under his own power. But perhaps it brought Anakin whatever twisted kind of joy he could feel, in his present condition, to hold out the illusion of choice. Obi-Wan said, waiting for the pain, “I won’t.”

Anakin nodded, which was a surprise and a change from their usual script. He swept away from the open window, stalking over to his throne and sitting. He said, “I thought you’d say that, Obi-Wan. But I think you’ll change your mind. I’ve had an epiphany, you see.”

“Oh?” Obi-Wan asked, arching an eyebrow. “Perhaps you’ve realized--”

“2224,” Anakin interrupted, and Obi-Wan worked to keep his expression still and calm as the unbroken surface of a lake. So, it was to be more of this particular torment. He tried to keep the revulsion and horror off of his face, tried--

“Draw your blaster.” Obi-Wan blinked, startled. It seemed unlikely that Anakin intended to actually kill him. Death would mean an end to whatever enjoyment Anakin drew from torturing him. And merely making the threat without any intent to carry it out would… defang him. 

He said, lifting his chin, “I’m not going to beg for my life.”

Anakin lifted his chin, just a little, mask ever unchanging but pleasure in his voice when he said, “Oh, I know that.” And then he waved a hand, lazy, and added, “Shoot 4574.”

Something froze inside Obi-Wan’s chest. He jerked to look, turning in time to hear the blaster shot, to watch Trip sway on his feet and then just - just collapse, down and back, smoke curling from his temple. Cody had shot him cleanly, at least he hadn’t suffered, more, but--

“Stop!” Obi-Wan cried out, the word a rasp through his damaged throat. He looked back at Anakin, wide-eyed. “What are you--”

“Shoot 6762 next,” Anakin said, hands gripping the edge of his throne, leaning forward a little, and Obi-Wan couldn’t--he wasn’t even getting time to do anything to stop it, watching another one of his men fall. “Now 34--”

There was no thought to dropping to his knees. Obi-Wan hit hard, not even bothering to try to steady himself. It hurt, but it was a distant, far away kind of pain. “Ah,” Anakin said, pleasure and satisfaction dripping off of his tone. 

“Ever the Jedi,” Anakin said, and Obi-Wan heard him stand but could not look away from Cody, standing there blank-faced, the blaster still up, pointing towards Bones, who was just standing there, waiting to die. “Even now. Even with the Order completely and justly destroyed. You’ve always been weak like this, haven’t you? I was working with the Zygerrians, of late. It reminded me. I wonder how weak you are, really?”

Obi-Wan looked up at him, breathing raggedly. He said, “Don’t hurt them.”

“I will do as I wish,” Anakin said. “2224--”

“No!” Obi-Wan shouted, as best as he could, his voice was still wrong. “I’m--”

“Put the blaster against your head.” And Obi-Wan froze, his heart lurching sideways in his chest, agony sweeping through him. He turned, helplessly, watching Cody lift the blaster and snug the barrel against his temple without any evidence of hesitation. The world shifted, terribly, under Obi-Wan, his gut lurching.

From somewhere far away, Anakin said, “Pull the--”

“Please, don’t,” Obi-Wan gasped out, the words dragged out of him. “I’m kneeling. Please.”

Anakin hesitated and shook his head. He sounded… disgusted when he said, ”Look at you. Begging for the life of this  _ thing _ . Even after what it did to you.”

Obi-Wan rasped out, “He didn’t do anything to me. You--”

He cut off as fingers clenched into his hair, dragging his head back, forcing him to look up into Anakin’s dark mask. “ _ It  _ beat you almost to death,” Anakin hissed, “ _ it  _ forced itself on you. Didn’t it?”

Obi-Wan’s heart beat against his ribs, uncomfortably fast. The threat of the blaster against Cody’s head echoed between each word Anakin spoke. And the truth would not serve him, in that instant. It wouldn’t serve Cody. Obi-Wan swallowed and lied, “Yes.”

Anakin’s grip tightened briefly in his hair, Anakin’s breath hitched, tellingly. He shifted a little closer, a looming shadow, and his voice had gotten raspy when he said, “Call me by my name.”

And Obi-Wan weighed the lie against Cody’s life, for less than an instant, because it was no contest. He stared up into his own reflection, knowing he’d do whatever was necessary to keep Cody’s finger from pulling that trigger, ever again, and said, “Lord Vader.”

“There,” Anakin said, satisfaction curling around the word as he reached out, cupping Obi-Wan’s cheek, “that wasn’t so hard, was it? All the pain you went through, just to avoid two little words. It wasn’t worth it, was it, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan’s gut was hard and cold as rock, but he kept his voice steady, lying, “No.”

“I like you like this,” Anakin said, voice rumbling. “Agreeable. On your knees.” He stroked his thumb up, across Obi-Wan’s cheek. “But I’m not sure I’ve been convinced to spare 2224, here. It's defective, you know. Keeping it around is a drain on resources.”

“Please,” Obi-Wan said, because he did not need the Force to read this situation. He’d been in the hands of sadists more times than he could count, the power mad and and the power hungry. And he knew Anakin, better than anyone in the galaxy ever had, perhaps. “Please, Lord Vader, don’t kill him.”

Anakin made a little sound, thoughtful. “That’s the best you can do?”

Obi-Wan’s breath caught, just for a second, something breaking in his chest. It felt like his heart. “I’m begging you,” he said, and heard Anakin make a surprised, thick sound. “Please.” And he swallowed, tipping his head forward, as much as he could with Anakin’s fingers in his hair, “Please, spare him.”

“I don’t know,” Anakin said, tugging him forward, just a little, taking his hand off of Obi-Wan’s face, reaching for his armor, instead, Obi-Wan’s stomach turning over as nausea surged up his throat. “I’m not convinced, yet.”

“Please,” he said, his voice steady through sheer force of will as he made himself wet his bottom lip, knowing where this was going, seeing the terrible conclusion like the edge of a cliff, one he had no choice but to run over, because the alternative was letting any more of his men die, and he wouldn’t do that. Ever. “Let me convince you.”

And when it was done, when Anakin released his hair and let him slump down, gasping for breath, his mouth aching and his throat sore, his vision blurry, Anakin said, “I suppose that’s good enough. For now. You’ve always used your mouth well. Put the blaster away, 2224. And get him cleaned up. Bring him to my quarters when he’s...presentable. I wish to celebrate my victory properly.”

Anakin strode away then, cloak snapping, head high. He’d always been so smug, after a victory. Obi-Wan shuddered, shaking all over, waiting to be hauled to his feet. Nothing happened, for a long moment, long enough for him to look up, though he did not want to look into Cody’s face, at the moment, shame curdling in his gut at what he’d done--

Cody was staring forward, blaster still against his head, his free hand down by his side, finger jumping, tapping out, out-of-rhythm, “No, no, no, no, no.” There was blood, running down the side of his neck, and horror kicked over fresh and new in Obi-Wan’s gut.

“It’s alright,” Obi-Wan blurted, his heart shattering a bit more in his chest with each beat. But-- but his heart had broken to pieces before. He’d kept living. “Cody, please, put the blaster down, please, don’t--”

Obi-Wan jerked when two other troopers grabbed his arm, hauling him to his feet, where he swayed, feeling disoriented and dizzy, sick. Cody had not moved at all, by the time the troopers dragged Obi-Wan through the door, past the bodies of their dead brothers, who they didn’t even regard. “Cody! Don’t! Please!”

Obi-Wan hung onto the sight of him as the droids cleaned him up, as troopers dragged him back to Anakin’s rooms - not his throne room, but - but what appeared to be his actual quarters. There were troopers in the room. Lined up along one wall. A single trooper across from them, blaster drawn, finger on the trigger. Anakin looked him over and said, his voice thick and rasping, “Get on the bed.”

Obi-Wan thought about a blaster pressed against the side of Cody’s head, about Padmé, about the slaughtered younglings, his family, his men, the only people he had left, who needed him…. And he turned, looked at the bed, and said, “Yes, Lord Vader.”


	8. Blurred vision/Ringing ears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "blurred vision/ringing ears" prompt. Warnings for torture, mentions of non-con, massive brain injuries, and the fall-out of mind control.

The Kaminoans bred Cody for war. They’d forged him into a weapon and then they trained him, taught him how to fight and how to  _ win _ . He’d been stubborn and determined, even among his brothers, and they’d valued those qualities. He learned strategy. How to handle himself. How to handle his men. How to handle a war.

And he’d excelled at it. His men had taken on armies and  _ won _ . They’d come within a breath of winning a galactic war and had that victory soured. He’d lost a fight he’d never had a chance to prepare for, lost everything, all at once.

He didn’t know, exactly, what had happened on Utapau. One moment his body had listened to him and the next it just… hadn’t. It felt like dreaming, in a way. Or a nightmare. He could see the world. He could feel the things his body touched. He could hear his own voice.

But he couldn’t control any of it, could not stop himself from ordering his General shot down, no matter how he fought and struggled and--

And the most he could do, raging inside his own head, was file a form stating that General Kenobi had died, falling into the waste-water pit. After all, no nat-born would have been able to survive that fall.

Not according to the training he’d received on Kamino. 

He’d watched his hand hesitate, on Utapau, watched his fingers twitch a different direction on the pad, and  _ fought _ . In the end, the report went out that Obi-Wan had died. And Cody, scratching and tearing at the walls inside his own head, counted that as a victory, refusing even to allow himself to consider the alternative, in case the thing that had stolen his body heard the thoughts, somehow.

#

Nothing much else felt like a victory for years. He lost track of time. Lost track of himself. He couldn’t do anything, couldn’t stop the things his body did. He killed people, people begging for their lives. Children. 

Jedi.

People he’d fought beside.

His  _ friends _ .

He couldn’t stop it. 

It was a relief, of a sorts, when Vader - the man who had been Anakin Skywalker - reassigned him to Mustafar. There were no people to kill on Mustafar. In fact, there was little to do. He and his brothers just… lived there. It was strange to see so many members of the 212th.

They’d kept them apart, after they were trapped inside their own heads. Split up battalions and companies. Put them in blank white helmets that made it impossible to know the man standing beside you.

But on Mustafar, he found his men. Not many of them. Nothing close to their full complement. He knew many of them had died in pointless battles and… in other ways. He walked by troopers slumped sideways in their bunks, a blaster still in their hands. Maintenance accidents, the forms said, when they were filed.

He’d watched troopers step into the line of friendly fire, or walk off the edge of tall paths, plunging hundreds of feet with no attempt to stop themselves. 

On Mustafar, it jarred something in his mind each time he looked over and recognized one of his men, memories clattering through his head of battles fought together, victories hard won.

It was a constant reminder that he’d failed them. He’d been their Commander. He was supposed to look after them. But-- But he couldn’t. Couldn’t do anything to help them, even as Vader put him into position as supervisor of the base.

Cody’s body ran the base, in Vader’s absence. Designed security and set up duty rosters for his brothers. He wondered, sometimes, why Vader hadn’t put Rex in such a position. He wondered if, perhaps, Rex had not died, when they were all trapped inside their minds, and wished, more than anything, that he’d been that lucky.

He and his brothers slept and ate and trained, for, as near as Cody could determine, no reason.

And then Vader found Obi-Wan.

And Cody, who had gotten too tired to fight, somewhere in the last three years, stirred inside his head and started screaming, again.

#

The Kaminoans had bred Cody to make war. He warred with the thing that lived in his head, the thing that used his voice and his body, the thing that wasn’t him. He fought every order Skywalker gave him, after the bounty hunters dragged Obi-Wan from their ship and dropped him on the ground. 

It felt like throwing himself at the side of a wall, over and over and over again. Trying to break through stone with nothing but his will alone. But he found ways. Little things he could do. Muscle movements, trained into his memory, below whatever level the control operated.

He could twitch a finger, if he focused. The code he’d created with Obi-Wan was as automatic as speech, once upon a time. Wrestling enough control of his body to communicate anything sensible felt almost impossible.

But Cody hadn’t been trained to give up. And he’d never learned how. He managed, watching Skywalker wreak his terrible atrocities across Obi-Wan’s body, to tear and pull at the wall. To haul on it, determined that he should either break it or force it to finally break him utterly, to grant him death, if nothing else.

And, when he wasn’t throwing himself at the wall inside his head, he planned. He couldn’t stop his body from carrying out minor tasks. Couldn’t stop it. But he could turn his thoughts elsewhere. He could turn all his focus onto  _ exactly  _ what he’d do, when he got control of himself back.

Skywalker had set him up as commanding officer. Cody built plans and refined them and  _ waited. _

And he managed, at least, to say “no,” when Skywalker made him hurt Obi-Wan, made him--

Cody remembered, in stunning detail, the very first time he’d wanted to kiss Obi-Wan. They’d been standing on the edge of a cliff on Trillol II, looking out across a sea that was, as far as he could see, endless. The wind rising off it had buffeted them both. Purple sea birds spun through the air above them.

There had been Separatist ships out on the water, far away but coming closer. The ships were the reason they were up on that bluff, but Cody had forgotten to care about them, for a moment, looking across at Obi-Wan, his hair tangling in the wind, the water close to the shore the exact color of his eyes, and--

And Cody had wanted to kiss him, then. Suddenly and achingly. He hadn’t. They needed to get back to the lines and - and it wouldn’t have been appropriate, anyway, to kiss his commanding officer. His General. But Obi-Wan had blinked, stopped in the middle of talking, and looked over at him, eyes getting wider, and--

Cody had assumed, really, that Obi-Wan knew exactly how he felt from the time they stood on that cliff. They hadn’t done anything about it. The middle of a war was hardly the place and their ranks stood between them, and--and they just  _ hadn’t _ . But they’d both  _ known _ . 

And then Skywalker ordered him to - to beat Obi-Wan, to hold him down and rape him and-- Cody wished, more than anything, beating at the inside of his own head, trying to tear himself to pieces, if just to make the nightmare stop - that Obi-Wan would just - just give Skywalker what he wanted, spare himself--

Cody knew he wouldn’t. Even felt a swell of fierce pride that Obi-Wan wouldn’t allow Skywalker to win, but it was a sour, awful kind of resistance. Cody would never be able to unfeel the way Obi-Wan had struggled, the way he’d flinched and tried to get away, shaking all over, shocky. Never be able to unhear the crack in his voice, the way he’d tried to get Cody to stop, and Force, all Cody had wanted to do was stop, make it stop, never--

He used to dream about kissing Obi-Wan, out under a wide-open sky, slow and sweet. He used to imagine Obi-Wan smiling against his mouth, eyes crinkling in the corners with easy joy. He used to imagine what it might be like to do more than that, to press together skin to skin, to find out how their bodies might fit together, all imaginings, because Cody had never touched anyone that way, never wanted to touch anyone but Obi-Wan, and--

Cody was light-headed by the time it was over. That had been happening more and more often. The harder he fought, the worse he felt afterwards. His head hurt, terribly, and his vision swam. He tasted something strange, down the back of his throat. Salty. Too thin to be blood. 

Skywalker told him to go get cleaned up and he could not resist the order, but he swayed sideways, in the hall, shoulder bumping into the wall, and for a moment, for just a moment, he managed to reach for his blaster.

He had it halfway to his head - because he’d never do that again, never again, never - before the thing in his head took over again.

It passed, the fleeting taste of control, but it made him redouble his efforts. It  _ could  _ be done. He  _ could  _ talk to Obi-Wan, at least a little. He  _ could  _ make himself move, if he just fought hard enough. 

No one had ever accused Cody of not fighting hard enough.

#

Cody fought, desperately as Skywalker got Obi-Wan to kneel, got him to  _ beg _ , and-- and Cody knew his General. He’d always known what it would take to break Obi-Wan. Known it would be his brothers on the floor, finding what peace they could in death. 

They’d - they’d all hurt Obi-Wan. Sometimes directly. Betrayed him. Tried to kill him. Cody had thrashed inside his head on Utapau, as they tried to murder their General, and he hadn’t been strong enough to fight it.

None of them had. They’d been weak, when Obi-Wan needed them, weak over and over again, and--

And he still fell to his knees for  _ them _ . Cody had watched him take abuse after abuse, every violation Skywalker could come up with. Watched him bounce back with a smirk and a sharp comment, indomitable.

Obi-Wan only begged for  _ them _ . For their lives. After they’d failed him and hurt him and--and  _ watched _ . After Cody had - had taken everything from him, violated him, ruined whatever they might have had, once, and it didn’t matter that Obi-Wan had said it wasn’t him, it--

Cody should have been stronger. Fought harder. He should have been able to stop himself from pulling the trigger, should have been able to turn the blaster on Skywalker, should have never left Obi-Wan in a position where he had to  _ beg _ , where he had to let Skywalker fist fingers in his hair and abuse him again, making him choke, and--

Something salty ran down Cody’s throat. He could feel hot wetness in his ears, moving down the side of his neck. 

They were supposed to look after each other.  _ He  _ was supposed to protect his General, his Obi-Wan, but--

But more of his brothers were pulling Obi-Wan out of the room, Obi-Wan calling out for  _ him _ , concern in his voice, even still. And, somewhere in Cody’s head, something gave in a hot, dizzying rush.

#

Cody swayed on his feet and then went to one knee, panting, breath ragged and heart beating off-rhythm. He said, “Ah,” and the shock of hearing something he  _ intended  _ to come out of his mouth slipping free cut through the dizziness in his head like a vibroblade through butter.

Liquid flooded his mouth and he spat it out, because it tasted awful. He expected, vaguely, for it to be blood. It was clear. Mostly. Like saliva, tinged pink. There  _ was  _ blood, too, dripping down from his face. His thoughts were a tangled, confusing jumble. He couldn’t make them stay still.

His head hurt. His vision swam in front of him, the room getting blurry. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and nausea punched up through him. He retched, which only made his head hurt worse, and decided to accept the state of his vision, for the moment.

Something was, obviously, very wrong with him.

He barked a sharp laugh. The sound buzzed in his ears, oddly. Something had been very wrong with him for a long time. Maybe something was right with him, finally. He pushed to his feet, the world reeling around, and almost fell when he took a step.

He gritted his teeth, striking out for the door. He needed to get to Obi-Wan. But that might, he realized, require a trip to the medbay first. If he made it that far. His chest hurt, sudden and sharp, a deep, terrible kind of pain.

He ignored it, pushing past several of his brothers, who were still standing, stock still, expressions frozen, eyes red, blood under their noses and by their ears. “With me,” he ordered them, voice steady and  _ his _ , grabbing Bones and dragging him into motion, forcing them all to move, taking another step and another. 

Obi-Wan had begged, for them. For him. After everything. 

Cody dragged in a breath and then another, forcing his brothers onward, his legs holding him up all the way to the medbay, where they tried to fall out from under him. Obi-Wan had begged. For him. Fought for him. After all he’d done. All his failures. 

Cody wasn’t going to fail him again. Ever. He grabbed a droid, panting, and slurred, as it blustered in confusion, “Lord Vader. Wants. Me alive. And them.” They had orders to keep him alive, he knew. Skywalker wanted him there to keep hurting Obi-Wan. And they wouldn’t question his orders about the rest of his brothers. 

Skywalker had, after all, left him with so many responsibilities.

Maybe, he thought, swaying, he could use that to his advantage. He was going to need every advantage he could get, to bring this entire place down on Skywalker’s head. All of the plans he’d nurtured over the past months were already screaming in his head, one after another.

And then the blackness came up and swallowed him.

#

Cody woke up staring at the ceiling in the medbay. For a jerking, awful moment he thought he couldn’t move, thought he was trapped in his own head again, and he lurched up. It was shocking to have his body respond to what he wanted it to do.

Chimes started, all around him. Medical sensors. He blinked, disoriented, looking down at the little wires coming off of his body, his head and chest. There was an I.V. in his arm. He shuddered, reaching for the sensors on his head and pulling them off of his skin, even as a droid hurried up.

“You are not recovered,” it said. 

He dropped the sensors and stood, reveling in the ability to control his body, to make his legs take his weight, even if he still felt dizzy and unbalanced. He was… in the area of the medbay designated for trooper use. Two of his brothers lay in the beds beside him, similarly wired up. Cody frowned at them. They’d both been in the room when he’d broken the thing in his head. “I’m recovered enough,” he said, looking around for his blacks and his blaster.

He felt… very still, inside. Battlefield calm. He’d taken enemy strongholds before. And, this one, he had played a role in designing. His mouth twitched up in the corners. Skywalker, for whatever reason - to hurt Obi-Wan - had left Cody in charge of ever so much. He was going to pay for that mistake.

“2224,” the droid protested, as Cody took a moment to slide the I.V. free, putting pressure over the puncture. “You do not understand. You suffered a major malfunction, along with several other troopers. You must--”

“What kind of malfunction?” he asked, grabbing a pair of neatly folded blacks and pulling a shirt on. “How many others? These two?”

The droid made a little whirring sound. Cody wondered if it were surprised. Wondered if he’d need to destroy it, before it raised some kind of alarm. He was not, he recognized, acting in an approved manner. 

The droid said, after a moment, apparently writing his change in behavior off as some organic nonsense, “A massive aneurysm in your frontal lobe. Six of you were affected.” Cody took that information in, yanking his pants up his legs. Six of his brothers. He’d bet all the credits in the galaxy they’d been in Vader’s little torture chamber. That they’d watched Obi-Wan beg for their lives. That it had… snapped something in them, too. “These two survived.”

Their General was going through hell. And he’d put himself through worse for  _ them _ . He--

“Only these two?” he asked, and there was his armor, right where he’d known it would be, ready for him to step back into, to make himself a cog in the Empire’s awful machine once more. He was never going to wear it again, once he got Obi-Wan and his brothers out of here.

“Yes,” the droid said, “2224, you are not recovered,” it continued, as Cody buckled his armor into place. 

“I’m ready to return to duty,” he said, a phrase he’d heard himself utter against his will, so many times over the last three years. Duty - Skywalker’s twisted idea of duty - had been all that mattered. 

He’d never forgotten where his duty actually lay. And he finally - finally - had a chance to do all the things he’d wanted to do for the last three years. He snapped his chest piece into place and gripped his blaster, the grip cool and familiar against his palm, full of sweet promise and potential.

He knew, based on reports read while he’d been trapped in his head, that a blaster bolt was unlikely to kill Skywalker. Not while he was in that suit. It had all kinds of defenses and protections. People had shot him before, apparently. It hadn’t even slowed him down. He’d just carved them to pieces with a red lightsaber.

As much as Cody liked the thought, walking up to him, placing the barrel against his head, and pulling the trigger probably wouldn’t do anything. That was fine. Cody knew how to work around an enemy’s defenses. He’d had time to plan. He’d requisitioned an EMP device weeks ago, managing that much control. He was going to bring this entire base down on Skywalker. Make him pay for everything he’d done.

“Wake them up,” he told the droid, working on his vambraces, the movements close to automatic. 

“I’m not sure they’re--”

“Wake them up,” Cody repeated, flat and hard, and the droid made an unhappy little noise, but complied. Cody knew his brothers. Knew they’d want to be awake for what was to come. It was a relief, he found, that Bones had been one of the ones to fight his way free. He shot the droid in its central processor, a moment later, unable to risk the security breach it represented.

He was in charge of reporting all lost materiels and investigating the reasons for their loss. One droid going missing would be very easy to explain. 

And Cody was going to need a medic he trusted. He watched his brothers struggle their way awake, watched the horror and disgust roll over their expressions as memory settled and they regained control of their own faces.

Bones curled sideways, got his head over the side of the bed, and retched. Crys jerked to sitting, looked around, and gasped, “Kriffing--Commander? Is this--is this another dream?”

“No,” Cody said, flat and hard, nothing soft left in him. “You’re awake. We’re awake.”

Bone looked up, wiping his mouth, eyes wide and horrified. He asked, “What are we going to do?”

And Cody told them. Told them everything, watching their eyes get wider as determination settled across their features. He looked at Bones when he finished, and said, “Not all of us survived breaking free. And too many of us are still controlled.”

Bones nodded, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “You want full autopsies?” he asked, and Cody could see them falling into their jobs, the tasks in front of them. Grabbing onto something to focus on, the same as he was. 

As long as there was something to do, a next step to take, he didn’t have to think about what he’d done. He didn’t have to remember Obi-Wan’s eyes, looking up at him, or the sound of his voice, begging, or--

Something in their brains was controlling them. Somehow. He didn’t know what it was, but he intended to find out. Victory could only be obtained once you knew your enemy, after all. “Start with the brain,” Cody said, gut cold and heart beating steadily. “I want a full report by the time I get back. Crys, you’re with me.”

Crys nodded, swinging off the bed and pulling on armor. It took only moments before they were moving out of the trooper’s area, into the medbay proper and Cody jerked to a halt, because--because Obi-Wan was floating in one of the base’s few bacta tanks. His hair floated in the fluid, longer than he’d ever liked it to be. There were healing wounds, all across his skin. And-- and his left arm ended, abruptly, above the elbow. Skywalker had, had started carving pieces off of him, and--

Cody took a halting step towards the tank, rasping out, “Force.”

“Sir,” Crys said, his voice cracking, and Cody swallowed the bile that rose up into his mouth. They’d laid in the medbay. They’d been so weak, he’d allowed Obi-Wan to be subjected to - to whatever Skywalker had done to him. “Sir, we’re really going to do this, aren’t we? Kill him? Get the General out of here?”

Cody hands curled into fists. He stared at Obi-Wan, floating in the bacta, and he could still hear, in his head, the way Obi-Wan had begged for their lives. His life. He turned away, shoulders a rigid line, and said, “Yes. We are.”

He had some time to implement his plan, evidently. He could not move, not with Obi-Wan floating in the bacta, recovering from injuries that hurt to even imagine. He needed to take stock. To find out how many of his brothers Skywalker had murdered while he’d been unconscious. To learn how Skywalker was making them dance to his whims, and to find a better way to free his brothers than waiting for them to give themselves an aneurysm.

And then he needed to get Obi-Wan out of this place, make him safe. And he needed, so badly he could almost taste it, to put Skywalker out of his misery. He’d die. One way or the other. For everything he’d done.

The Kaminoans had bred Cody for war. He planned to wage it.


	9. Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "rescue" prompt. A turning point! Chapter warnings for mentions of torture, loss of a limb, mentions of non-con, fall-out from mind control, suicidal considerations, and character death (major).

Victory left Vader feeling warm inside, pleased. For a time. He got what he wanted, what he deserved, Obi-Wan begging for his forgiveness, using his proper title,  _ obeying _ . He got all the apologies he was owed, and it only cost a few bodies, slumped against a wall.

Obi-Wan’s agony and horror filled the entirety of the Force, ratcheting higher with each clone that died. He was such a weak fool. They were nothing, just  _ things _ , and broken things at that, for all that Obi-Wan carried on, his pain so large it felt like a living creature, sucking up all the air in the room, filling every possible piece of Vader’s mind, battering at him from across their bond.

He’d never, actually, felt pain like that from Obi-Wan before. Never once. It brought back memories of their time on Zygerria, where similar emotions had swirled out of Obi-Wan’s head, but… Obi-Wan had more control, back then.

Under Vader’s command, he cracked and broke, shattering like glass each time Vader so much as threatened one of the clones. It was ridiculous. Every single one of them would happily put a blaster bolt in Obi-Wan’s head, and yet he fell to his knees and he groveled and he said, obediently, whichever words Vader wanted.

He did  _ whatever _ Vader wanted, without protest, without hesitation, for all that his expression was some blank and empty thing. Sometimes, Vader had one of the clones shot, anyway, just to make sure Obi-Wan didn’t lose track of the stakes.

He did  _ everything _ Vader wanted, so agreeable, the great General Kenobi brought so low. Finally put into his place. Agreeing, with the rasp that remained of his voice, that Vader was right to take his arm, stretching it out, head bowed, fair was fair, after all. Agreeing that he’d been wrong. Agreeing while his agony curled through the Force, staining everything.

Vader worked to hold onto the initial pleasure of his victory, fought for it, temper growing worse as Obi-Wan spoiled things, once more. He could barely breathe, around Obi-Wan’s cursed emotions, by the time it became obvious that Obi-Wan needed to go to the medbay, no longer shaking, no longer doing much of anything but breathing shallowly, gone pale all over, staring at the troopers, intently.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan was murmuring, barely audible, as a pair of troopers lifted him and carried him away - strange that they had not dragged him, Vader considered, but only briefly. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he kept repeating, as they carried him through the door. He had been slurring the words for some hours.

Vader appreciated the apologies, but, truly, they were far too little too late.

He turned away as the door shut, moving to look out over the open viewport along the side of the room, staring out across the lava fields below. He curled his hands around the railing, breathing hard, and reassured himself that he had, in fact, gotten everything he wanted, finally.

He turned away from the view, eventually, and went to check the messages his Master had sent him, over the past days.

#

Cody warned Crys to watch his expression when they were out of the medbay. To control his emotions. Vader was one of the few Force sensitive people left in the galaxy, as far as Cody knew. That meant he could, technically, pick up emotions.

Cody worked to keep his feelings contained. To stay as blank as possible. But there was fury in him. Fury and rage and guilt and hurt and--

And Obi-Wan had taught him, back during the war, how to breathe slowly and deeply, how to settle himself when the noise in his head got to be too much. Cody remembered sitting beside him, quietly, meditating in a dimly lit room with the sweet smell of incense all around them, listening to Obi-Wan’s breath and falling into the same pattern, so they were breathing as one and, he had imagined, perhaps their heartbeats even changed to match--

Obi-Wan floated in a bacta tank as Cody walked back into the medbay, hours after he’d left, leaving Crys to continue on with their preparation. Obi-Wan’s remaining limbs curled close, like he was trying to make himself small, even while unconscious. 

Cody remembered everything his body had done. Remembered, so clearly, giving the order to shoot Obi-Wan down on Utapau, the cool slide of satisfaction in his mind as he’d watched his General plunge into the waste-water pit. He remembered moving out, remembered reassignment, remembered people begging, pleading with him--

He dug his nails up into his palms, when the memories got to be too much, and marched forward, back towards where he’d left Bones. Who was… bent over another trooper, when Cody entered the room, and who snapped, “Don’t say a word.”

And so Cody didn’t, because you listened to the medics when they gave you orders, even when you, technically, out-ranked them. He waited, patiently, moving a bit around the side of the bed to watch as Bones did… something to the side of their brother’s head.

It didn’t take very long before Bones shifted, pressed a bacta patch into place, and looked up at Cody, scowling, to snap, “Chips.”

“Excuse me?” Cody said, considering that the aneurysm may have caused more damage to Bones’ mind than they’d first assumed, adjusting his plan to work around that, and--

“There are chips in our brains,” Bones said. “Frontal lobe. I  _ assume  _ that’s what’s controlling us, because I’ve removed four of them so far, and the results have been favorable.”

Cody blinked at him, struck, abruptly, by how good it was to have his brothers back, to have help, to remember that Bones was every bit as competent as he was, if with the tools of the medical bay instead of combat planning. “Where are they?” he asked, “The ones you freed?”

“Waiting for you,” Bones said, mouth quirking, his eyes hard and flat as Cody’s felt. “I sent them to the barracks and told them not to draw attention to themselves. Guv is going to stay here, though. He’ll help me, we’ll move twice as quickly.”

Cody nodded, calculations streaming through his head. There wasn’t much of the 212th left. Their men had been thrown onto the front lines in the immediate aftermath of the war. He didn’t believe for a moment that hadn’t been intentional, another jab at Obi-Wan, even though everyone had thought him dead.

Palpatine and Skywalker had wanted them all dead, at first, just because they were Obi-Wan’s.

The survivors were mostly clustered on Mustafar, such as they were. “How long to free them all?” he asked, as Guv started to stir around. 

Bones shrugged. “A few days? Maybe less, if I can find another medic or two.”

Cody reached out and gripped his shoulder. He said, “Good work. Stay out of the way in here, you hear me? Just leave if Skywalker comes by.” To see Obi-wan, he did not add. He didn’t think he needed to. “But make sure I’m informed.”

“Will do,” Bones said, and Cody left him to his work, a piece of his plan that he’d dared only hope for slotting into place. He’d been prepared to bring this entire place down on his own, if necessary. It looked like he was going to have help. He could work with that.

He looked at Obi-Wan again, on his way out of the medbay, bile burning in the back of his throat, and then set his expression. He stared forward and worked to keep his expression cool and blank. Empty. Just like the faces of all of his brothers. 

Cody knew every face around him. His men, wiped clean. Emptied. Screaming inside their own heads, the way he’d been. Begging for someone to help, where no one could hear. Trying desperately to regain control of themselves long enough to - to make it stop.

Cody had spent three long years trapped inside the prison of his own mind, watching his body commit atrocities. All he’d wanted was the opportunity to put a blaster to the side of his head and pull the trigger. It had seemed, for so long, the only way to escape. 

He’d managed to fight his way to a different kind of freedom. He didn’t understand why he hadn’t been strong enough to do it weeks ago, before--

Before Vader had gotten his hands on Obi-Wan. Before he’d made Cody--

Cody fought to keep his breathing steady and lost, but none of his brothers looked his way as he reached out, bracing a hand against the wall, back curling over as his heart lurched, off-rhythm and agonizing. 

He’d beaten Obi-Wan. With his own hands, he’d-- he’d thought about the best ways to cause pain and then he’d done it, methodical. Effective. And he’d - he’d - Force - Obi-Wan had begged him not to and he hadn’t been strong enough to stop, he’d--

Never again, he thought, straightening and continuing towards the door to move through all the expected motions and to check on his brothers, such as they were. The bunk room. That was where Bones had sent those he’d freed.

They were all packed in, barely enough room to walk between the beds. The space felt claustrophobic and empty at the same time, because even when the bunks were all full it was silent. No one talked. No one laughed. They just… moved about. Silent. Ghosts made flesh.

Cody walked between them, memories of the past dogging his steps, drawing to a stop by Swoop, who was… sitting like all the rest of them. They were supposed to be cleaning their blasters. It looked like he’d started the process and abandoned it.

He was sitting, staring straight forward, blaster in hand and shaking, badly, as he slowly raised his arm, his finger on the trigger. Cody’s heart lurched in his chest and he reached out, without even thinking, grabbing Swoop’s wrist with one hand, stripping the blaster away with the other.

He said, quietly, hoping Bones would understand, “Report to the medbay.”

Swoop stared forward, breathing shakily, his ear shiny with red blood, and Cody swallowed, wishing he could do  _ more _ . “I’ve got you,” he said. “Just go to the medbay. That’s an order.” He’d been able to hear things, while he was trapped.

Swoop must have been listening, because he let out a shuddery breath, and stood, moving without a word towards the door. Cody checked on the rest of his men - his brothers - and found those Bones had freed clustered together, looking over to watch him with haunted, shadowed eyes. 

“Come with me,” he said, as he reached them, tilting his head towards the door. He had so much to do and intended to waste no time accomplishing it. He gave them instructions and sent them on their way, smiling grimly as they moved off. He turned on his heel; there was  _ so much  _ to do, and had a moment where he thought everything might go wrong, when he stepped out of the barracks and found Vader walking down the hall, ridiculous cloak flapping behind him.

He resisted the urge to go for his blaster. It wouldn’t work, he reminded himself, and instead drew to attention, the way he’d been forced to do for so long. Cody stared forward, face carefully blank, focusing on being...empty, inside. 

He hoped Vader wouldn’t glance towards him and his heart lurched, unpleasantly, when Vader drew to a stop before him. Cody saw his own reflection in the side of Vader’s helmet, the lines on his face deeper, a distortion of himself.

“2224,” Vader said, something pleased and thick in his tone. Gloating. Smug. “Obi-Wan asked if you were alright. Did you know that? So worried you were hurt. The things he did, to make sure I allowed the droids to tend to you. Can you imagine them?”

There was no reason to tell him. No reason at all, except to revel in the hurt he was causing Obi-Wan. Vader, as far as Cody knew, thought they were all… dead inside. Cody fought with himself; he’d been doing that without respite for three years. He’d gotten very, very good at it, apparently. His expression did not twitch as he said, blank, “No, Lord Vader.”

He expected Vader to notice how very badly Cody wanted to kill him. Instead, Vader just said, “You’ll report to my quarters when he’s recovered. I think it’s time we ended his fascination with you.”

And he turned away, resuming his march. Cody exhaled, harshly, as Vader exited through the doors at the end of the hall, heat from the volcanos beyond sweeping in, temporarily, before the doors closed. His hands itched, not with the urge to reach for a blaster. He’d rather beat Vader to death, he realized, with a dark, twisting slant of his emotions, beat him the way Vader had forced him to beat Obi-Wan, until he wasn’t moving anymore and--

But that would have to wait. He was not ruled by his emotions or the flat, cold fury inside of him. He had one possible opportunity to get Obi-Wan out of here. To rescue his brothers. He wasn’t going to waste it.

No one cared where he went around the base. Vader had, after all, left him in charge of so much, ever so confident in the power of his control, in his ability to make Cody do whatever Vader liked. Well, Cody considered, heading for the munitions bay to check on Crys, keeping his expression studiously blank, he was in the mood to do what  _ he  _ liked. 

He’d always favored explosions.

#

Vader wanted nothing more than to enjoy his crowning moment of victory for a little while. He didn’t see why, after all he’d done for the galaxy and his Master, that could not be allowed. But, apparently, he had been silent for too long after his successes.

His Master had sent Tarkin to check on him, as though he were a wayward child. Vader recalled being quite impressed with Tarkin, once. He’d seemed sure of purpose, during the war. Willing to do what needed done.

Currently, Tarkin only irritated him. Lectures appealed not at all to him, but he had his orders and, besides, Obi-Wan would be in the medbay for some time yet. Vader had been forced to punish him, to remind him of his place, to take a pound of flesh; it was nothing Obi-Wan hadn’t taken from him.

And when he recovered enough to be stable, Vader would take the rest of what he was owed.

Tarkin asked after his current projects and sneered at the base and was, generally, an irritant. Vader resisted the urge to lift a hand and strangle the man. His Master would be displeased, if he did.

His irritation built up behind his bones, restrained and held back. This was Obi-Wan’s fault, anyway. If he hadn’t distracted Vader so much, he’d have completed the tasks set before him and wouldn’t have to deal with Tarkin’s overbearing presence, for however long the man decided to stay.

Vader scowled behind his mask, and resigned himself to playing the unwilling host for nearly three days, before Tarkin finally left, apparently satisfied that he’d thrown his weight around enough.

It left Vader’s temper surging through his veins, burning hot and stinging. He sent an order to the medbay that Obi-Wan be dragged from the bacta, ignoring the droid’s complaints that he was not fully healed; apparently, there was some kind of internal damage. “He’ll live,” Vader snapped, “I want him brought to me.”

He needed to settle the pressure in his head, the rage in his blood.

It was, after all, all Obi-Wan’s fault.

#

Cody worked unceasingly for three days, getting everything moved into place. Exhaustion beat at the insides of his head, forcing him to get his head down for a few hours at a time. He wouldn’t risk ruining the mission because he was kriffing tired, so he made himself wedge into a bunk and shut his eyes, determined.

The nightmares woke him after what felt like moments, leaving him gasping and jerking to sit, vomit rising in his throat. In the nightmares, he saw Obi-Wan, every single time. Begging, bloody, held down and hurt and--

And Cody was the one hurting him, every time.

He swallowed, hard, panting and feeling sweat break out across his skin. His stomach hurt, terribly and his head throbbed. But a few nightmares were less of a punishment than he deserved, for what he’d done. He was going to get Obi-Wan out of here. He was going to drop the entire base into a volcano. He was going to kill Skywalker, with his bare hands, if possible.

And then he’d think of a way to pay for what he’d done, and pay the cost, gladly.

Until then, he scrubbed a hand across his face and stood. He’d slept a few hours. More than long enough. It would have to be. He couldn’t bear the thought of putting his head on the pillow again, of shutting his eyes, of leaving his subconscious free to return to the monstrosities he’d committed.

He loved Obi-Wan. Had loved Obi-Wan for so kriffing long. And he’d still--

Cody pushed the thoughts away, rising from the bunk and meeting Reck’s eyes from the bunk across the aisle. Reck nodded, just a little, barely a sign of movement, but enough to show he was in there.

So many of them were free.

Soon everyone on the base would be themselves again. They’d gotten lucky in that regard, Cody knew. The visit of the Admiral had distracted Skywalker, something Cody hadn’t anticipated. Thus far, Obi-Wan had been the only thing that adequately kept Skywalker occupied and--

And Cody hadn’t been willing to use that distraction again. Skywalker was never going to raise a hand to Obi-Wan, ever. He was never going to get the chance.

Cody held onto that thought, moving out into the base, expression studiously blank, just in case. He threw himself into the last stages of his preparations; making sure the base was wired appropriately was important. Taking care of the ships in the hangar needed handled, as well. They needed one clean - free of any tracking devices - and the rest… well.

Cody wasn’t taking any chances. There’d be no way for Vader to get off of this rock, if somehow Cody failed to kill him directly. He didn’t plan to fail, but having contingencies never hurt anyone. 

He spent hours in the hangar, ensuring everything was just so, nodded grimly once finished, and moved back through the base, looking for something else to keep him busy. It was so vitally important that he stay busy. It kept the memories away, kept his thoughts from spiralling inward in a way that made him want to reach for his blaster. 

He didn’t think he could kill Skywalker with it. Yet. But lifting it, pressing it to the side of his own temple, was…

He swallowed, marching blank faced down the hall. Those were thoughts for another time. Save Obi-Wan. Kill Skywalker. Blow up the base. Get his brothers out of here. Those were the goals he needed to hold onto. And he gripped them, tight. Focused on nothing else and nothing more.

Cody went to the medbay. There was generally something to do there, and most of the rest of his preparations were complete. Bones almost always had a brother in recovery, someone who needed explanations and comfort, who needed to be told it was alright, now, that it was over, the long nightmare they’d all shared.

Cody went over all the completed preparations one more time, as he reached the medbay, making it two steps in before a jarring sense of wrongness swept over him. He froze, gaze jerked towards the bacta tank where Obi-Wan had been floating, last he checked, and--

“They took him,” Bones said, fast, coming forward and gripping Cody’s arms, his expression distraught, openly so. “Sir, they took him, the droids had orders and Crys and--”

“To Skywalker?” Cody asked, hoping that - maybe - the answer was no. That maybe they’d just dragged him to his cell. That would make everything so much easier. Cody planned to keep Obi-Wan  _ away  _ from Skywalker’s execution, if at all possible. 

Obi-Wan had loved the man Skywalker had been, once. He didn’t need to see what Cody was going to do to him.

“Yes,” Bones said, sounding gutted. “What are we going to--”

“How many of us are still chipped?” Cody asked, feeling something cold settle across him, ice itself moving through his veins. There was no more time to wait, then. He’d already failed his promise not to let Skywalker touch Obi-Wan again, but-- Running off immediately wasn’t going to serve any of them.

He needed to set everything into motion.  _ Then  _ he’d run off.

“Less than a dozen,” Bones said, “but it’ll take me hours--”

“Order them to board the ship,” Cody cut in. There wasn’t time to waste on explanations and fretting. “Tell them I’ve ordered general quarters. Lock them in. We’ll deal with them later. I want them out of here  _ now _ , before anyone can start issuing orders. You’re to stay on the ship with them. Get the medbay made ready. We’re not getting out of this without injuries.”

“Yes, sir,” Bones said, nodding, and turned, just like that, motions suddenly calm and controlled. They’d all been waiting for this such a long time, Cody knew. He certainly had.

He turned on his heel, walking out of the room, ignoring the droids watching them curiously. A few droids were no longer a concern. They wouldn’t be able to get word to Skywalker, anyway. Not if he were - were distracting himself with Obi-Wan again.

Cold fire spread in Cody’s gut as he walked. He’d almost made it to the barracks when an order came over the comm in his ear. It seemed he was wanted, immediately, in Skywalker’s throne room.

He could guess at why, and grinned, small and tight. Skywalker  _ would  _ invite him in, would not even be startled when Cody showed up, because Skywalker had  _ called  _ him. Made it easy, over confident and sure he was in utter control. The throne room was more of a problem than his private chambers. There were automated defenses in there. But Cody had prepared for this eventuality. His knuckles itched.

Cody continued to the barracks and gestured, silently, when he stepped inside. The few of his brothers still under the control of the thing in their heads never even looked up, never saw the signs Cody sketched through the air.

The rest of them, those freed, those ready to fight, stood with grim, determined looks, checking their blasters and straightening their armor. Cody looked over all of them, heart beating steady and sure in his chest, and nodded. They were as ready as they were ever going to be. And he was so tired of waiting. He marched through the halls, men falling in at his back, without a word or hesitation.

He gestured again as they reached Skywalker’s throne room. His brothers nodded, spreading out, pressed to the walls, blasters drawn, ready and waiting, as he blanked his expression and waved the door open, stepping in to get a look at the exact situation they were dealing with before he called in all his back-up. 

The throne room smelled like blood and the poisoned, volcanic air from outside, in a way that dropped the bottom out of Cody’s stomach. The room was brightly lit, not even the brief mercy of shadows there to hide the sights that awaited.

Obi-Wan was there, and Cody’s heart ached to see him. He was kneeling on the floor, head down, beside  _ Skywalker _ , who was sitting on that throne of his, the ugly, brutal shape of it looming through the smoke that had been allowed to billow into the room. Cody resisted looking towards the open window, an itching sense of anticipation in his bones.

Skywalker had his legs crossed, a chain wound around one hand, connected to the collar at Obi-Wan’s throat. Obi-Wan’s right arm hung limp by his side, unbond. Cody swallowed bile, the abbreviated end of Obi-Wan’s left arm a condemnation, another way he’d failed, and he’d--

“Come here,” Skywalker ordered, voice a boom, and Cody remembered when he’d sounded like a boy, those first few months of the war. That boy had grown into a monster. Cody wished, absently, that he’d killed Skywalker long ago. Years ago. If only he’d known.

He walked forward, assessing the situation. Some of his brothers were already  _ in  _ the room. But that wasn’t a surprise. Skywalker liked to keep guards around, and perhaps he intended to force Cody to kill them. Or, Cody considered, eyeing the blasters they already held, perhaps they were to be his executioners.

They were all but two of them awake.

He hoped Skywalker enjoyed the surprise he was about to get. It had been far too long in coming.

Cody came to a stop in front of the throne, staring forward, waiting for the perfect moment, and Obi-Wan hitched in a breath, rasping - his voice was still barely a whisper, strained and hoarse, “Please, please, don’t--”

“I didn’t give you permission to speak,” Vader snapped, jerking on the chain, and Cody’s hands tightened into fists. He fought to keep his emotions calm and still. “I told you,” Skywalker continued, after a moment, “that 2224 has been experiencing defects. I think it’s time we resolved that.”

Cody watched Obi-Wan go still, strangely and totally. Centering himself, Cody realized. Preparing for  _ something _ . 

“I know how I’d prefer to handle the execution. We could see how long it would take, if you like,” Skywalker continued, voice thrumming with implications. “But you could, perhaps, convince me to make it painless.” He tugged on the chain, again, jerking Obi-Wan forward against his legs, even as he uncrossed them, and Cody was going to--

“Yes, Lord Vader,” Obi-Wan said, before Cody could signal the other troopers, sliding his hand up Vader’s leg, and there was no more time to wait because Cody wasn’t letting this happen again. Never again. Never--

He made a sign, sharp and short, by his hip, and everything went mad, all at once.

Vader made a harsh, furious sound, standing and throwing Obi-Wan back, viciously. Cody blinked, because there was a flash of red, and for a moment, Cody thought that Vader had drawn his lightsaber and killed Obi-Wan and--

The red  _ went with  _ Obi-Wan, who hit the ground, rolled, and came up on one knee, glowing lightsaber in hand and blood streaking down his chin as he rasped, “You’re not going to hurt them, ever again, Anakin.”

That was when the first explosions started going off, right on schedule.

It was when Vader roared an order to kill him. 

And it was when his two chipped brothers opened fire.

#

Vader told Obi-Wan, when he was dragged in and dumped across the ground, that he had a special treat planned. He enjoyed the way Obi-Wan shuddered at the words, the way his emotions tangled and warped, dread and even still some scraps of determination threading through him.

Obi-Wan  _ still  _ thought he had a chance, even after everything. Even after Anakin had taken his arm - and he thought, perhaps, after he handled 2224, he’d take a leg, make Obi-Wan see exactly what he’d done, make him live it. He was going to undo Obi-Wan, utterly. It simply might take longer than he’d first hoped.

In any case, wrapping Obi-Wan’s chain around his hand and dragging him closer had settled some of the anger left behind by Tarkin’s visit. Obi-Wan still moved like he was hurt inside, carefully, a soft sound punching out of him as Vader dragged him into place.

He considered, for a moment, that something should be done about Obi-Wan’s right arm. There was no easy way to restrain it, though, and anyway, what was he going to do? The collar around his neck prevented him from acting against Vader’s will. And, if that failed, well…

There were troopers in the room. They’d proven so effective at getting Obi-Wan to listen. Just the threat of their deaths was more than enough to have Obi-Wan begging for mercy he wasn’t going to receive. A few executions were a good way to remind Obi-Wan of who was in control.

Still, Vader planned only one such execution for the evening. He’d grown tired of seeing 2224’s face around the base. He had a sneaking suspicion that Obi-Wan was thinking about the defective damn thing, that, even when he was with Vader, his thoughts were elsewhere. Another betrayal.

Besides, 2224 deserved to die for everything it had done during the war, for taking Obi-Wan’s focus away, distracting him.

Vader called it in, sitting back on his throne and relaxing. Tarkin had gone. He had Obi-Wan. He’d soon be rid of 2224. He’d gotten what he wanted and shuddered, just for a moment, at the way the realization left him feeling strange and hollow. 

He focused on the twist and ache of Obi-Wan’s emotions as 2224 marched in to face its execution. Obi-Wan’s agony was so rich, so complex. He hadn’t hurt nearly so much when Vader took his arm. That had just been… pain. Physical. Fleeting. The way he split open as Vader told him exactly what was going to happen to 2224 was so much thicker. Choking. Spilling into the Force.

Vader’s mouth twitched behind his helmet - it was wrong that Obi-Wan cared so much about some  _ thing _ , a clone, anything that wasn’t  _ him  _ \- and he jerked on the chain, only slightly mollified when Obi-Wan slid a hand up his leg.

How many times had he thought about Obi-Wan touching him like this? Obi-Wan kneeling between his spread legs, head bent forward, focused on making him feel good? They should have had this before, Padmé would have understood, Vader could have made her understand.

His respiration quickened with anticipation. He knew exactly when he planned to order 2224 executed. He’d order it to kill itself, he decided, after making it watch. After he had Obi-Wan’s mouth on him, after--

His sweet musings were interrupted when Obi-Wan’s emotions shifted, all at once, agony and grief peeling away to reveal something cool and calm and flat. He jerked at the same instant he felt Obi-Wan’s fingers curl around his lightsaber, and--

Vader shoved him back, immediately, with the Force, the saber activating even as he tossed Obi-Wan across the room. A second later and it would have carved up through his gut. Obi-Wan had activated it while it was pressed close to his skin, had intended to kill him and--

Fury and betrayal swirled through Vader’s mind as he lurched to his feet, drawing the Force around him, watching Obi-Wan grip  _ his  _ lightsaber, the red blade glowing across his skin, his eyes fierce and blue, sharp all of a sudden, all the misery he’d worn just pulled away, like a mask, like they’d been put-on, which was  _ impossible _ .

Vader snarled, reaching for the controls for the collar, and the ground shook under him. Around the room the troopers were moving, suddenly, opening fire on 2224, who  _ jerked away _ , impossibly, he should have stayed where he was, unmoving, not fired back at them, grunting when a blaster shot caught him in his side before some of the  _ other  _ troopers opened fire, taking out  _ each other _ , not--

Vader didn’t understand what was happening. It didn’t matter. He moved to activate the controls, to bring Obi-Wan to heel, and 2224 said, “Skywalker.”

Vader blinked, surprise making him look over, sure he’d misheard and--

“For Trip,” 2224 said, calm and flat, as he shot the controls on Vader’s arm, sparks jumping out of the suit even as the rest of the troopers not on the ground opened fire on  _ him _ . Vader roared in fury, unsure how Obi-Wan had managed this, how he’d managed to corrupt the clones’ programming, but none of that mattered.

Vader could figure that out  _ later _ . After they were all dead. He lashed out with the Force, throwing them back, lifting three of them into the air at once, grip choking around their throats. He would kill them, oh yes. All of them, one after another, the entire 212th, ending with Obi-Wan. He’d make Obi-Wan watch each of them die, make sure he couldn’t look away, make sure--

He tightened his grip in the Force and made a hoarse, surprised sound when the troopers fell, anyway, his power pulled apart. The Force shifted in the room, swelling up, sweet and sharp, and he looked over, confusion coursing through him, to find Obi-Wan on his feet, saber shaking, breathing hard, what remained of his left arm stretched out.

“I won’t let you hurt them. Ever again,” Obi-Wan panted, eyes blazing, power coursing out of him, holding Vader  _ back _ , which was  _ impossible _ . Obi-Wan had ever been able to match him, but Vader had taken care of that, restrained him-- 

And the collar lay on the floor, twisted, the edges still smoking faintly from the blade of his saber. Vader snarled, moving towards Obi-Wan, fury building in his bones, all his focus on his old master. Blaster bolts hit across his shoulders and back, his chest, deflected by all the shielding in his suit, and then there was another explosion, closer, rocking the room.

Sparks jumped inside his systems, when it hit, a few warnings going off and silencing at once. His respiratory system stopped responding; as did his cardiac. The next blaster bolt hit true, and he stumbled back a step, and then another, as more bolts hit him. 

He needed to get out, get away from this madness. Institute repairs. His chest split with agony as his heart struggled to keep beating without mechanical support. He wheezed, gasping for breath inside his helmet, driven back further, until he hit the wall, gripping at the edge of the window.

“No!” he panted, raising one hand,rage and sharp fear echoing through him, allowing him to pull hard on the Force. He lashed out at Obi-Wan, the source of all of this trouble, and heard him cry out, sharply, as half the room came down in the grip of Vader’s power.

Stone and rock spilled across the floor, choking dust swirling through the air, giving Vader a moment to sway, his access to the Force no longer so restrained. Everything hurt. He didn’t - it was impossible. There were alarms going off, everywhere, and no one had come to help him. He hurt. He’d--this was all wrong. Impossible and wrong. 

He looked around, as the air currents rising off of the lava moved through the room, clearing some of the smoke. He found cold, furious faces everywhere, and Obi-Wan, up on one knee,  _ somehow _ , looking up at him with his shining blue eyes. 

The troopers opened fire on him, all at once and it - his suit wasn’t working properly. He felt each impact, terrible.

“Master!” he wailed, unable to breathe, heart stuttering, tripping, because Obi-Wan had so many weak spots and he knew he was one of them. Obi-Wan wouldn’t let them actually kill him. It wasn’t the Jedi way, after all.

A blaster shot caught him dead center in his helmet, shoving him back, almost over-balancing him. “For Dart,” 2224 said, flat, as Vader gripped at the edge of the open window. 2224 stared at him, his eyes dark and terrible even as he bled from the blaster wound in his side, even as he made a sharp sign with his hand and the blaster fire stopped. “For all our brothers.”

Vader gasped, choking, planning to take advantage of their foolish mercy. He started, “Obi-Wan--”

And 2224 said, “Yes,” grimly. “For Obi-Wan.” And he pulled the trigger once more, stepped forward while Vader was reeling, and _kicked_ him, impossible force behind the blow. Vader made a sound, heard it echo in his helmet, as he overbalanced, grabbing for the edge of the window and missing and--

#

Cody leaned out over the side of the window, listening to further explosions go off, exactly as they should have. The EMP had worked well, he thought. A nice touch. It would have been enough to take Skywalker out, even without Obi-Wan’s help.

But Obi-Wan’s help meant they hadn’t lost more men, and--and that split something open, inside Cody’s chest. Obi-Wan had still fought for them. After everything, he’d tried to put himself between them and Skywalker.

And so Cody stared down into the lava, so far below, watching as it closed over Vader’s head, his one outstretched hand. He ignored the pain in his side, hot and cold at the same time, and the feel of blood sliding across his skin. The shot had gone clean through and he knew he was losing blood, lots of it.

It didn’t feel terribly important, at the moment. “Sir?” Crys asked, stepping up beside him, blaster still in hand. “Did you get visual confirmation?”

Cody spat over the edge, turned away, and said, “Yes. He’s dead. Let’s go.”

They weren’t done.

Not yet.

He’d killed Skywalker. He’d freed most of his brothers and the rest were going to be sorted. All that was left, he considered, turning away from the fire, was getting Obi-Wan out of here. Making him safe and never letting anyone hurt him, ever again.


	10. Carrying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "carrrying" prompt. Fall-out from torture, non-con, and mind control. Considerations of suicide. Injuries.

Cody gestured at the troopers around the room to secure their chipped brothers. They had time to get to the hangar bay, he’d made sure of that, but not an indefinite amount. Leave things too long, and the possibility had existed that Skywalker would have beaten them and had time to undo the explosives.

The entire complex was going into the lava below. Even if they’d lost, even if they’d all died, Cody had made sure they were taking Skywalker with them.

The fact that they’d all lived through it still felt hard to process. Cody didn’t try. There were other tasks in front of him, things he needed to do. He focused on them, to the exclusion of all else. He had to get Obi-Wan out - get his men out - get them to the ship and away.

“Get to the hangar,” he snapped, moving across the floor to crouch by Obi-Wan, ignoring the agony in his side, the warm wetness of blood flowing under his armor. Obi-Wan was still sprawled against the far wall, collar a few feet away, where Skywalker had tossed him like a broken doll. He was breathing, shakily, bloody and trembling as Cody hesitated, all hopes that Obi-Wan would be able to walk out on his own dissolving into nothing.

Half the room had fallen on him. He’d pushed most of it aside with the Force, but not all of it. Cody had felt something tearing in his chest as it came down on him, felt himself breathe again only with the smoke cleared and Obi-Wan was revealed, on his knees, determination in every line of his face.

Determination only took you so far. He looked at Obi-Wan, slumped against the wall, panting, and knew it wasn’t taking Obi-Wan to the hangar.

Someone needed to carry him out. Someone--

Cody started to reach out, and froze, remembering the crack of Obi-Wan’s voice, the way he’d flinched and tried to get away, and--

Obi-Wan looked up at him, eyes dazed and unfocused, face streaked with both blood and tears. There was no relief on his features - not like the first time he’d seen Cody, there in Skywalker’s cruel care, their reunion had been a spoiled, awful thing - only exhaustion and pain as he gasped, “Cody. You’re--you again?”

Cody’s gut turned over, agony lancing through him that Obi-Wan’s first question would be concern for him, after what he’d done. He managed to find his voice, through the horror and anger inside his head. He rasped out, “Yes. We’re free. You’re free. He’s dead.”

He watched Obi-Wan freeze, just go still all over, breath catching and holding. Cody watched relief pass over Obi-Wan’s expression and a deep, terrible grief, at the same time. He was bleeding, hurt. So terribly, because Cody hadn’t moved fast enough, hadn’t-- he swallowed. His guilt needed to wait. “I’m going to get you out of here. Can I--” He stretched out a hand again, fingers curling back before he touched Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

Obi-Wan didn’t flinch back from him. Cody wasn’t sure how he managed that. He only rasped, his voice  _ cracking _ , “Please do.”

Cody couldn’t manage to speak around the tightness of his throat. He shifted a little closer, cautiously, trying to find a spot of skin that looked undamaged to touch, hesitating to touch at all, remembering, with a sudden lurch of his gut, gripping at Obi-Wan’s skin, holding him down, and--

Obi-Wan made a ragged sound and moved, lifting his right arm and curling his hand around Cody’s shoulder and--and the initiation of the touch unlocked something in Cody’s head. Obi-Wan’s breath was ragged and hitching. He was shuddering all over. And Cody could do nothing else but wrap an arm around him, and then slide the other under his legs, holding him carefully, both wishing he weren’t wearing his armor - the edges had to be cutting against Obi-Wan’s bare skin - and so grateful that Obi-Wan had more layers between them.

“It’s alright,” Cody said, unable to stop the words from bursting out. “You’re safe now.”

Obi-Wan gasped, making an effort to raise his head and then giving it up with a pained sound, cheek still resting on Cody’s shoulder. Cody didn’t know how he could bear it, how Obi-Wan could stand to touch him, but… Cody stood, lifting Obi-Wan easily - he’d wasted away, in Skywalker’s care, or possibly even before - and turned to look at the rest of the troopers, those who had waited to escort them to the hangar.

Cody couldn’t fathom even the idea of handing Obi-Wan over to any of them. As much as it hurt to lift him, as much as it pulled things inside his damaged side, as much as disgust tried to kick up through his chest, he… he didn’t want anyone touching Obi-Wan, ever again.

“I don’t,” Obi-Wan rasped, in his arms, shivering all over, “feel so well.”

Cody swallowed, nodded his brothers forward and fell into step with them. He didn’t feel so well, either. Light-headed. But he could work around that. The droids had said Obi-wan had internal injuries. Who knew how badly he’d aggravated them, in the fight. Who knew if Skywalker had hurt him before Cody showed up. Who-- “We’re going to get you help,” Cody said. “You just - just rest. Pass out, if you need to. I’ve got you.”

He’d carried Obi-Wan unconscious body through these halls before, after all. None of his brothers had ever looked askance about it. They’d just stared forward, for all that Cody knew they must have been screaming inside their heads, the same way he’d been.

“Might, ah, just do that,” Obi-Wan rasped, a thread of sharp humor in his tone that cut down Cody’s spine. He swallowed, heavily, when Obi-Wan stifled a sound, agonized, as the base shook with another explosion and Cody jarred him. Cody fought not to swear.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped out, instead, meaning about so much more than any inadvertent harm he was doing. 

Obi-Wan said nothing, breath uneven as he turned his head back and forth on Cody’s shoulder. And Cody could only swallow, wishing he could wrap Obi-Wan up, wishing he could bandage Obi-Wan’s hurts, heart tripping over when he felt Obi-Wan go limp in his arms, blackness mercifully swallowing him up for a while.

Cody walked through the halls with his back straight, looking directly ahead, bleeding under his armor. He passed the medbay, kept going, straight for the hangar, for the end of all of his plans, for freedom and safety and his men.

“Sir,” Fret said, as Cody climbed the ramp into the ship they had made theirs. He fell into step beside Cody, gaze falling worried to Obi-Wan’s limp form and staying there. “The chipped are safely in their quarters, sir. They didn’t put up a fuss. Bones says he can keep working on them here.”

“Good,” Cody said, ignoring the dizziness moving through his head. He - probably - should have let someone else carry Obi-Wan. But he couldn’t bear the thought. Couldn’t make himself take the sensible path forward. Besides, they were almost to the med bay.

“He’s alright?” Fret asked, his tone clipped and anxious, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

“He will be,” Cody said, words like a promise. He’d  _ make  _ them true, somehow. Obi-Wan deserved to be alright again, after - after all of their failures. And if it meant Cody couldn’t find a useful airlock right away, that was fine.

He’d wait, until he was sure Obi-Wan was recovered.

And then he’d do whatever else needed done.

They reached the medbay as Cody felt the ship lift off the ground. They’d only been waiting for him, apparently. “Probably going to get bumpy,” he told Obi-Wan, who did not stir, his expression gone lax, his skin too pale, his breathing shallow. He was, Cody had a feeling, hurt badly on the inside, where Cody couldn’t even  _ see _ , and--

And Bones stepped forward, turning away from a discussion he’d been having with concern written all over his expression. “Commander?” he asked, and Cody jerked a step back when Bones reached out, as though intending to just--touch Obi-Wan. Put hands on him.

Bones’ gaze jerked to meet his, held for a moment, before Cody managed to unclench his jaw, to remind himself that it hadn’t been  _ Bones  _ who nearly beat Obi-Wan to death. It hadn’t been  _ Bones  _ who held Obi-Wan down and--

Cody gritted out, forcing his voice to steadiness, “He’s hurt. Badly.”

“He’s not the only one,” Bones said, tone sharp, and, when Cody only glared at him, he added, “Bring him here.” He gestured to one of the beds, and Cody limped over to it, bending to gently deposit Obi-Wan on the sheets. Obi-Wan made a soft little sound, pained, and Cody wanted to brush back his hair, wanted to hold his hand, but--he jerked back a step, instead, listening to Bones bark orders that seemed to be coming from further and further away.

He took another step back and wavered on his feet, looking down at his body, finally. There was blood, smeared all down his side and right leg. Quite a lot of it, he thought, dizzily, was not Obi-Wan’s.

“--said how are you?” Bones asked, suddenly gripping Cody’s arm, concern in his expression.

Cody shook his head, made to step back again, and his leg went out from under him. He said, sitting on the ground, “Take care of the General.” That was what mattered. They needed to make Obi-Wan well. Everything else, all the rest of his objectives he’d achieved, he realized, as he felt the hyperdrive engines kick on from somewhere far away.

He’d killed Skywalker.

Freed his brothers. 

Returned them to the stars.

Gotten back control of his own body.

It almost felt like a dream come true, but he knew, too well, the grip of the nightmare around his throat. It tightened, his vision darkening, as Bones yelled something urgent from a great distance. 

Cody blinked and realized he was looking up at the ceiling. There were hands pulling at his armor. His brother’s hands, and their voices overhead, tight with concern. “Leave it,” he said, trying to push them away as his world went grey around the edges and then to nothingness.


	11. Blood loss/Trail of blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings for the fall-out of everything that's already happened.

Obi-Wan’s head hurt. Everything else, he noted, as he swam up through the dark of unconsciousness, hurt as well. He was long ago grown used to that; it barely registered, really, and he wished he’d stayed unconscious.

But something had woken him. Something besides the pain. He blinked his eyes open, expecting the gray walls of his cell, or, perhaps, if he were very unlucky, the inside of Anakin’s private chambers, a shudder moving through him as he took stock of his surroundings.

He blinked across at a gray wall, vaguely aware of voices and, impossibly, the hum of hyperdrive engines. For a long moment the world made no sense. He reflexively stretched out his senses with the Force, half-remembering that it wouldn’t do any good, that he was collared and--

Sensation slammed into his head, flowing through him, as though the Force had just been waiting for him to open a pathway. He felt -- so much -- too much -- all at once. Emotions swam up into him; anger and guilt and regret and hurt and --

Obi-Wan gulped for breath, letting the emotions flow through him, accepting them and letting them go, burning his nerves and leaving him shaking. He could have attempted to block them, to shield away from the feelings, but the touch of the Force was such a relief.

He’d thought, honestly, that Anakin would kill him before he ever felt the embrace of the Force, ever again. He could not bring himself to shy away from it, even though it hurt, shaded and full of agony, radiating from all around him. He remembered, distantly, throwing himself into it, in Anakin’s throne room, desperate to stop Anakin from hurting his men. Beyond that, things were blurry. Cody had - impossibly - been himself again, somehow.

Obi-Wan had thrown himself into a healing trance, feeling all the damage inside his body, trusting that Cody would get him out, and then he’d….gone away, for awhile. Pain brought him back.

He knew how to handle pain. He knew how to breathe through it, until the emotions became a sort of background hum, filling him but not disallowing other thought. He sipped at the air, blinking at a gray ceiling, focusing on untangling the snarl of the Force around him.

He was...surrounded by troopers. He knew their minds so well. The way their thoughts moved was familiar and comforting, even if they all felt unwell, as though they’d been broken and left in shattered pieces. His men were hurt, and the thought dug down into him, past the confusion and disorientation. His men were hurt; he had to help them.

He lurched to sitting, reaching up to grip at the side of his head, hissing as the movement pulled at the wounds scattered across his body. Something tugged at his arm and he looked down at the little I.V. tucked in at the curve of his right elbow. The only elbow he had left, he remembered, with a shivery, unpleasant feeling.

Obi-Wan glanced to his left arm, gut clenching as memory clawed into his head. Anakin had circled him, made him stand, staring into the faces of his men, made his stretch out his arm, purred, “This is only fair, isn’t it? Say it, Obi-Wan.”

And he had, because the alternative was worse.

Obi-Wan made himself look, really look, at all that remained of his left arm, and swallowed convulsively. The lightsaber had, at least, kept him from bleeding out. The scars around the abbreviated limb were thick and dark. He jerked his gaze away, taking stock of the pieces of him that remained, the I.V. coming out of his other arm.

The line led to a hanging bag of fluid. It was swaying, gently, from his movement. He was… sitting on a little medical bed. There was a medical droid, puttering around close to him, changing course to approach.

The walls were not terribly familiar, nothing he’d seen exactly before, but they reminded him of the set-up on the  _ Negotiator _ , his fine ship, destroyed like so much else and-- He shook those thoughts aside.

He was… on a ship. He considered, with a shiver, that perhaps he had not hallucinated Cody crouching in front of him, promising that Anakin was dead, that they were getting out, all of them….

He rubbed at his head, hissing again as his fingers brushed bandages and the edge of stitches. He’d… been hurt, hit on the head. He recalled that, when he tried to focus. He’d been… fighting Anakin. Anakin, who had been so sure of the utter success of his plans, so sure that he’d found a way to keep Obi-Wan pinned right where he wanted.... 

Anakin had always been sloppy. Over-confident when he caught the briefest edge of success. Obi-Wan had tried to help him move past that, tried to offer him training and advice. He was grateful, all at once, that Anakin had never learned those lessons.

Obi-Wan scrubbed at his face and asked, as the droid rolled to a stop before him, his voice still a rasp - he wondered, absently, if he’d ever recover, “I don’t suppose you could tell me where I am?”

Cody had, obviously, carried him to the ship. Or perhaps he’d walked under his own power. His memories were a jumbled mess, confused by the head injury he’d taken. The droid chirped at him, irritably, something about his injuries and staying still. 

Obi-Wan ignored it.  _ Someone  _ had tended to his wounds. He was bandaged across his chest and side, the smell of bacta heavy in his nose. The smell made his stomach twist, nauseatingly, associated with injuries, with laying in a cell, with wondering what Anakin would do to him next, and--

Obi-Wan swallowed bile, shaking his head. 

He wanted to know what had happened. He had jumbled memories of talking to Cody, really Cody, not the other person who he’d been turned into. Cody had lifted him, hadn’t he? Held him with shaking hands? Hadn’t he?

Obi-Wan stretched out his thoughts again, working to maintain some level of control. He searched for Cody’s mind and got--a blur back. A presence, but dim and hurt. Unconscious. His heart tripped over, jerking unpleasantly in his chest, and he stood, ordering the droid, “Take this out,” and stretching out his arm.

The droid told him to get back on the bed and he scowled at it. He could probably figure out how to remove the I.V. with one hand, but it would take time, and he, abruptly, didn’t feel very patient. He grabbed the bag, instead.

He’d been wrapped in a blanket, which he appreciated. Someone had cleaned him up before patching him back together. He pulled the soft fabric up and around his shoulders as he swung his feet over the side of the bed, letting his legs dangle for a moment as dizziness and nausea moved through him.

He’d been to the healers often enough to know the vertigo was a sign he ought not try to stand. But… Well. He’d never been very good at doing what the healers wanted. He stood, with no free hands to brace on anything, and after a moment the room stopped spinning a bit.

The stilling of the room allowed him to notice that he’d stepped in something sticky. He blinked down, vision blurring for a moment. There was a… reddish smear on the ground. Dark. Tacky. He’d seen blood enough to recognize it out of hand, and followed the smear of it. It led towards one of the private med rooms, disappearing beyond it.

“Hello?” he repeated, unable to raise his voice above a whisper. He shuffled, carefully, over to the door. “Anyone?” Someone had bandaged his injuries, treated them as well as possible without a bacta tank. The troopers, he assumed. He could feel their minds, all around. Most of them seemed to be sleeping, a few very busy.

One such mind was close by, but not through the door with the smear of blood. 

The mind behind that door was unconscious, not just asleep. Those two states felt different through the Force. Obi-Wan shivered, because, even unconscious he recognized the mind, the bright soul. Cody.

Obi-Wan ignored the busy minds, the sleeping minds, and the droid. He didn’t call out again. It hurt his throat to talk, and he didn’t want to disturb any of the sleepers around him. He pushed the door open with the Force and hesitated another moment, in the doorway 

There were three little beds in the room. Only one was occupied. The trail of blood led right to it. Cody lay under the blankets, hooked up to wires and tubes, his brow furrowed even in unconsciousness, a little bandage on his brow. The shape of the blankets made it clear that there were more bandages beneath them, bulky and misshapen.

The cold of the hall seeped up through the soles of Obi-Wan’s feet, into his legs, leaving him shivering.

Obi-Wan rasped, “Force,” ignoring the pain in his throat, limping across the room to stop by the other side of Cody’s bed. He hooked the bag still attached to him to the hooks over Cody’s bed and reached out to press his fingers against Cody’s throat, fear crawling up his spine because Cody was so still, color bad, gone grayish, and even with the reassurance of the Force--

He had a pulse. Steady. Obi-Wan sagged, shifting, pulling fussily at the blanket over Cody’s chest, blinking his blurry eyes as a familiar voice from the doorway said, “He’s going to be fine.”

Obi-Wan blinked over at Bones and it was disorienting, seeing him standing there, with emotion on his face. Obi-Wan didn’t understand what happened. He kept waiting to wake up from this sweet, impossible dream. He asked, voice a whisper, “Are you sure?”

Bones’ mouth quirked up. He said, “I’m sure. He was gut shot. Liver damage. Lost a lot of blood. But he’ll recover. We’re built sturdy.” Bones took a step forward and said, “You’re not supposed to be out of bed, yet, General.” But he made no move to shoo Obi-Wan away.

Obi-Wan shrugged. “I feel much better.” Which was not the same as saying he felt well. “I suppose I have all of you to thank for that?” He tried to make his tone light, to get his voice closer to the way it used to sound, once upon a time.

He, apparently, didn’t succeed. Bones flinched, looking to the side, his hands bailing into fists as he said, “No, sir. You don’t need to thank us for anything.”

Obi-Wan blinked, caught off-guard by the sudden cut and snarl of Bones’ emotions. He swayed, bracing his hand on Cody’s bed, taking the wave of emotion like a blow, and-- and he released it, all of it, managing to say, “I don’t believe that. But I also...don’t know what happened.” He looked up, met Bones’ dark gaze.

Bones sighed and said, “Sir, you’re not much better off than him, you need to lay down and--”

“I can rest in here,” Obi-Wan insisted, tugging the blankets straight once more and carefully making his way around the bed. He sat, stubborn, in a chair by Cody’s, and looked up into Bones’ expression.

Bones grimaced. “Sir, I--”

“You’ll have to drag me away,” Obi-Wan said, calm, intending only to make his position clear, and flinched as Bones’ emotions contracted all at once, into horror and guilt and--

And by the time Obi-Wan swallowed down the nausea that had risen in his throat, wrestling with his own mind for control and achieving it after a moment, Bones had turned away to start gathering supplies. 

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan said, carefully, unsure why, exactly, his words had such an effect. He still wasn’t sure what had  _ happened _ . Bones shook his head, once, a muscle in his jaw jumping, over and over. 

“Can you tell me what happened?” Obi-Wan asked, gently, because he needed to know and because he wanted to distract Bones from the agony inside his own head, bleeding out of him with each instant. Bones hesitated. “How we got away, I mean? How you - you all got free?”

He’d known they were in there, his men. He’d been trying desperately to figure out how to free them. And, apparently, they’d gone ahead and done it themselves. Bones wouldn’t meet his eyes, as he said, “I’ll explain if you let me check you over without a fuss.”

And Obi-Wan could agree to that, resisting the urge to flinch away when Bones tugged the blanket open. He forced himself to relax, feet flat on the ground, and Bones looked over his skin, clearing his throat before he spoke, “There were...chips, in our heads, sir. Controlling what we did. I know that it took too long, but a few of us - the Commander, me. Crys. We managed to break them. We’ve been freeing the others.”

Pride and warmth spread through Obi-Wan’s chest as he leaned back against the chair. They were so brave, the troopers. So strong. He couldn’t imagine the difficulty of - of breaking the control of something in their own heads. 

“Thank you,” he said, feeling Bones jerk to a stop again, “for freeing me, too.”

Bones said nothing, only breathed raggedly for a moment, horror and guilt radiating out of him again, and Obi-Wan did not understand what he’d said. He shifted a little, asking, “Bones, is--”

“This is going to hurt a little,” Bones said, cutting him off, voice thick and half-strangled as he lifted a bandage on Obi-Wan’s ribs. The pain was, comparatively, so minor that Obi-Wan barely noticed it. Bones had always had a soft touch, anyway. 

“I’ve upset you,” Obi-Wan said, persisting, because he couldn’t - wouldn’t - ignore the pain of his men. “I’m sorry--”

“ _ Don’t _ ,” Bones gritted out, turning his shoulders away, curling his head down, sounding gutted. “Please, sir, don’t--don’t do that.” 

Obi-Wan stared at him, watching his shoulders shake, even as his hands stayed steady. Obi-Wan sat there, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, as Bones gathered himself and busied his hands with the tangle of tubes around Cody, stepping back after a moment, his face still turned away, voice hoarse when he said, “You can stay in here, as long as you rest.”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan said, automatically, and Bones nodded, stiffly, before turning and walking from the room.

Obi-Wan watched him go, feeling tired and battered, beaten inside his head. They all hurt, so much. He needed to help them, but--but it would have to wait, just a little while. He leaned back in the chair, wincing as it pulled on all the newly treated wounds across his body and some of the older hurts.

The burns on his back had healed, technically. They pulled, every time he tried to move, a constant reminder of what Anakin had done. He set the discomfort aside, and, after a long moment, leaned his head back, blinking at the ceiling, comforted by the awakened mind around him, but Cody, breathing steadily beside him.

He needed more answers about what had happened. And he needed to help his men. But that could all… wait. Just a little while. He lifted his hand, hesitantly, started to reach towards Cody’s bed and froze, because sitting still, with no one else to distract him, allowed memories to crawl up into his head.

And Obi-Wan had so many memories he didn’t want, of Cody gripping his legs, his hips, fingers digging in cruelly, mechanical and unfeeling. Before, years ago, he’d imagined what it might be like, to have Cody’s hands on his skin. To allow himself to be pulled close and held, and then--

He swallowed convulsively, and made himself stay where he was, made himself resist the urge to jerk away.

It hadn’t been Cody.

It hadn’t.

Just Anakin, finding another way to hurt him.

Obi-Wan dragged his mind away from the memories. Looking for balance in the Force and reaching the rest of the way out. It took only the work of a moment to find Cody’s hand on the bed. Obi-Wan curled fingers around his unnaturally cool skin - the troopers usually ran so hot - and closed his eyes. 

He didn’t mean to pass out, but he must have. He woke to a surge of emotion through the Force, splintering down through his head, something bitter and sharp and all-consuming. He jerked to wakefulness, expecting alarms and the sounds of battle. 

None of that seemed to be happening. Many of the minds around him were still resting. There was just Cody, who was--

Breathing raggedly, obviously awake. Obi-Wan blinked over at him, and found Cody staring down at the bed, at where Obi-Wan’s fingers were still curled around his palm. “You’re awake,” Obi-Wan said, barely above a whisper, relief coursing through him. 

“What are you doing?” Cody asked, voice thick, almost choked. He felt--like too many different things, before he exerted some kind of terrible control on his emotions, dragging them back, holding them tight.

It was a stunning amount of control from someone without the Force, someone so badly injured. Cody’s emotions all but disappeared, leaving Obi-Wan reeling at the sudden loss, and unsure how he’d managed it. 

He swallowed, blinking to try to steady himself, and shaking his arm, just a little. “You were hurt,” he said. “While saving me, I--Cody?”

Cody had flinched. Obi-Wan felt it, a roil of something deep and terrible moving through his emotions. He turned his face away, breathing hard, hand stiff under Obi-Wan’s touch, and… Oh. Oh, perhaps Obi-Wan should not have come into this room, should not have bothered him.

Perhaps, Obi-Wan considered, his men were - were not exactly happy to be reminded of his weakness. His inability to rescue them in a timely fashion, the amount of time it had taken him to - to realize they were even trapped in their minds. All his failures rose up in his head and he jerked his hand away, swallowing hard and blinking away the burning sting in his eyes. “Oh,” he said, quietly, “I’m terribly sorry. I’ll--”

“What?” Cody demanded, his voice low and ragged, he turned, and at least Obi-Wan could see his expression, could see it breaking behind the tight lines of control. “What the kriff are you sorry about?”

“I…” Obi-Wan blinked. He wondered what the right answer was and set the thought aside. Cody wasn’t Anakin. “I failed you, I know, I’ll just--Bones is--” He stood, because he knew he needed to make apologies, but he hurt, so much, inside.

“You didn’t fail anyone,” Cody ground out, and groaned, terribly, when he sat up and reached out, stopping an inch away from grabbing Obi-Wan’s arm, fingers stretched out, almost brushing skin. “You--what are you even talking about?”

Obi-Wan looked at Cody’s extended hand, memories sleeting through his head, lightning fast, there and gone. He swallowed and marshalled himself. “I did. I failed you all for years. I failed Trip and--”

“ _ No _ ,” Cody interrupted, swinging his legs off the bed, alarms chiming to life around them, reporting his movement to whatever medics might be around to hear. Obi-Wan could feel Bones’ tired thoughts, spiking with irritation at his frustrating patients. “You--”

And before he could say anything else the ship shuddered all over. Obi-Wan knew well enough what a ship coming out of hyperspace wrong felt like, and he held his breath, focusing on the distant hum of the engines, coming up through the deck. It continued, for just a moment, and then it stopped, completely.

A moment later the primary lighting in the infirmary failed. The ship lurched, throwing him forward against the bed - he reached out to steady himself with a left hand he didn’t have - and Cody swore, hand suddenly on his arm, holding tight and steady as the ship came to a jerking stop.

“Are you alright?” Cody asked there in the dark, as the emergency lighting came on, tinging everything with red. His emotions had lashed free, briefly, as the ship shook around them, concern and worry and guilt and--

“I’m fine,” Obi-Wan said, swallowing, resisting the urge to just lean into the touch. It had been...so long since anyone touched him with care, intentional kindness and concern. A selfish, needy part of him wanted to bask in it, but Cody hadn’t wanted to touch him, had been upset, and Obi-Wan wouldn’t take what he didn’t want to give.

The thought left the taste of vomit in his mouth. He shook his head. “I’ll go find out what’s happening, you stay--”

“Like kriffing hell,” Cody interrupted, and Obi-Wan would have protested further, but he didn’t have the energy for it. He stood, shivering a little - shocky, still, he knew - while Cody leveraged himself off of the mattress. 

And, together, limping, they went to find out what had happened.


	12. Broken down/Broken trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for fall-out of all the past trauma. Considerations of suicide.

Cody hated the feeling of a dead ship. He’d spent so much of his life aboard massive cruisers and had gotten used to the thrum of them, the way they seemed to have a life of their own. The heart of their stolen vessel had, apparently, given out, leaving them floating still and quiet in space.

Bones protested when he saw Cody on his feet, but some situations  _ needed  _ the presence of a commanding officer, and the ship dying under them was one of them. He pulled a spare uniform on, gritting his teeth as each movement tugged at the wound in his gut and back.

He was almost surprised he still lived, but, then, Bones was very, very good at his job.

Someone provided a spare uniform for Obi-Wan, as well. Cody glanced towards him, only once, while he was pulling on the clothes, scars and fresher wounds disappearing beneath familiar black. They were almost of a height, all his brothers and Obi-Wan, so at least the clothes mostly fit, even if they hung off of him, a bit.

He’d been slighter and taller than they were, not built for brute-forcing a solution, once upon a time. And he’d lost too much weight in Skywalker’s care, fed nothing but a thin, nutrient gruel. Enough to keep him alive, and not much else. Skywalker had taken too much from him, and Cody’s gut clenched, hard, at the empty sleeve hanging at his left side.

Obi-Wan hesitated, looking at it, and Cdoy watched his expression crumble, just briefly, in the harsh red light all around them. Cody wanted to step towards him, wanted to just - just curl around him and hold him until that expression went away, but--

He had a flash, inside his head, of his hand pressing Obi-Wan’s head to the floor, of Obi-Wan gasping, “Don’t!” and he shuddered, looking away, his skin crawling. He jerked, a moment later, when Bones stepped forward instead.

“Here,” Bones said, reaching out, “let’s try this.” And Cody watched, out of the corner of his eyes, as Bones neatly knotted the sleeve, drawing scissors from  _ somewhere  _ \- the medics truly operated differently than all the rest of them - and snipped off the extra fabric. “How’s that feel?” 

“Fine,” Obi-Wan said, his voice so quiet. Cody wondered if it would ever come back, return to the soothing, familiar timbre he’d grown used to, during the war. “Thank you, Bones.” He tried a smile, but it didn’t sit right on his face.

Cody said, “I’m going to find out what’s going on,” and headed for the door, before his heart could break any further in his chest. He slowed his steps, a moment later, when he heard Obi-Wan following him. Force knew the last thing Obi-Wan needed was to be rushed around the kriffing ship.

#

It turned out, Cody discovered, after making his way down to the engine room, that there’d been an accident. Tektek and Crys had been working to remove what they assumed was one last tracking device - Imperial ships were full of them - and they’d hit a conduit they shouldn’t have, or, perhaps, the device had been rigged to cause the destruction if they tried to remove it.

“I wasn’t trained on these engines,” Tektek said, scrubbing a hand back over his head, leaving behind streaks of grease on his shiny, shaved scalp - he must have shaved immediately, they’d all worn the same haircut while they were chipped - after he explained. He was scowling, darkly, still frowning over at the engines. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Can you fix it?” Cody asked, wondering where they were, how far out into the black they’d traveled before the engines gave, if they were close to a major hyperspace lane, if they’d be found…

He doubted, severely, that anyone who found them would be in the mood to offer them a rescue. The Empire had spread quickly, like a cancer across the galaxy. He doubted there was much of a bounty on their heads, but Obi-Wan… He looked sideways, at Obi-Wan, who was frowning over the dimmed computer consoles. 

He wondered, if they were boarded, if the Empire found them dead in the water, what the kindest thing to do would be for Obi-Wan. And then he had to swallow the vomit that rose into his mouth, disgusted with himself for even considering the options--

“We’ll fix her,” Crys said, determined, sliding out from under one of the coolant vents, grease staining his fair hair dark, until he almost matched the rest of them. “Just give us some time to figure out what’s going on. And we’re going to need more help.  _ Lots  _ more help. Bones managed to wake up any of the other engineers, yet?”

“I’ll find out,” Cody promised, and turned. He hesitated, shivering, when Obi-Wan turned to follow him.

“We’ll get you quarters,” Cody said, as they moved back through the halls, the ship quiet around them. It was meant to hold far more than their little complement. It was meant for war. Cody had some thoughts about how it might be put to use, if they managed to get her operational, again.

“I’d appreciate that. Later. I think we’ll all be needed on these repairs, first. If we can get communications systems up, I might...” Obi-Wan hesitated, only for a beat. “I might be able to get us help.”

Cody nodded, taking that information in and processing it. They could use help and it felt so… strange. Just falling into conversation, as though the past three years - the past three months - hadn’t happened. As though they were back on the  _ Negotiator  _ and Obi-Wan had just returned from a mission and--

“Cody?” Obi-Wan asked, hand brushing Cody’s arm, gentle, enough to make him realize that he’d stopped in the middle of the hall. He flinched away from the touch, remembering how Obi-Wan had shook, under his hands, like he was going to tear apart inside. He heard Obi-Wan make a little sound, almost hurt, and jerked further away. Obi-Wan cleared his throat. “Are you…?”

“I’m fine,” Cody lied, wishing it were true, unable to even look towards Obi-Wan, seeing him too clearly in memory, anyway, the way his eyes had been so wide, blood streaking his face and his shoulders and-- “I need to talk to Bones.”

#

By the time they made it back to the medbay, it had filled with a terrible, noxious smoke. Bones was gesturing at Mav, who was trying to explain that the intake valves were malfunctioning.

“I think I remember how to fix those,” Obi-Wan said, brightly, stepping into the middle of the argument just as Mav took a step towards Bones with frustration all over his expression. Mav froze, jerking in place, and Obi-Wan looked back and forth between the two of them. He said, after a beat, “I could probably use some help. Mav?”

Cody watched them disappear around the corner with a pit opening in the bottom of his stomach. Obi-Wan hadn’t been out of his sight since he woke up, since he killed Skywalker. He’d been able to just look over, and, though it had hurt to see him, Obi-Wan had  _ been there _ . If anything had gone wrong, Cody would have been able to do something. He shook his head, swallowing, as they turned the corner. The pain in his side was eating into his focus. 

Bones tched at him, lifting the bacta patch on his stomach to look beneath without so much as a by-your-leave, and Cody said, “We need more engineers. Wake up Lux next.” 

“Already got him scheduled,” Bones said, undertones in his voice that said he didn’t need to be told how to do his own job. “You shouldn’t be walking around yet.”

“I’ll live,” Cody said, and gritted his teeth as Bones did something that shot cold fire up into his chest and down the entirety of his right leg. “How’s the General doing? Really?”

Bones hesitated, went still all over for just a moment. Cody heard him swallow. His hands stayed steady as he worked, though. He said, “He’ll live,” and then snorted. “He’s - he’s healing. There were internal injuries; they’re much better. Jedi heal fast. If he rests, he should recover.”

Cody nodded. He wondered, absently, if any of them would ever get to rest. Maybe if they got the ship fixed. The itchiness under his skin was getting worse. Last time he’d left Obi-Wan out of his sight, he’d come back to find that Skywalker had him, again, found him chained and threatened and--

“How long until you’re finished?” he asked, shifting around, nerves thrumming unpleasantly. 

“Be done faster if you sit still,” Bones chided him, and Cody bit his tongue against a sharper retort, staring at the far wall. Bones had moved to tending his back before he spoke again, his voice quiet when he said, “And how are you doing, Commander? Really?”

“As well as the rest of us,” Cody snapped back, and felt Bones flinch, just a little. “Finish up.”

“In a hurry to go somewhere?” Bones asked, tone getting sharper, and Cody considered how far it might take to push Bones to outright anger. Wondered if he wanted to. He felt… adrift, a bit, in his own head. Planning and doing what needed done had given him a focus back on Mustafar.

But Skywalker was dead. His brothers - some of them - were free. Obi-Wan was safe. Healing. Would be fine, according to Bones. For the first time since Cody had woken up free, he didn’t know what step he needed to take next. The future stretched before him, a dark, impossible void.

He scowled, shaking the thoughts away, resisting the urge just to stand. “I need to check on the General,” he said, because it was true. Force knew Obi-Wan was always getting into trouble. Cody had thought the pressure sitting on his chest might ease when he wasn’t looking directly at Obi-Wan, but it just changed shape, grew sharper and dug claws into his chest. “Make sure he’s alright.”

He jerked out of his thoughts when Ults snorted, across the room. The other medic hadn’t looked directly at Cody since he woke up, hadn’t said so much as a word. Cody blinked over at him as Bones did something to his back that lit his spine on fire. He asked, “Something to say, trooper?”

“That’s just bantha shit,” Ults said, all sharp edges, “coming from you.”

Cody stiffened, heart jerking in his chest. He said, voice coming from far away, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ults looked over at him, finally, eyes flat and hard, mouth twisted up into a grimace. He said, “I saw what you did. To him.” His expression twisted, agonized. His hands, Cody noticed, had balled into fists. “I was there.”

Cody’s stomach turned to ice and the chill of it spread out through him, all in a wave. Nausea climbed his throat. He didn’t need to ask for an explanation. He remembered Ults’ face, remembered him standing there, still as a statue as Obi-Wan pleaded, “Please, Cody--”

“You made sure he wasn’t alright,” Ults continued, mouth curling up into a snarl, “you hurt him, you--”

“That’s enough,” Bones cut in, stepping around the bed, his gloves stained with blood and bacta, his shoulders set in a line.

“He kriffing held the General down and--”

“And what did you do?” Bones snapped back, head cocking to the side, the temper Cody had learned to be leery of years ago sliding out, all at once, like a claw unsheathed. Anger and something else, something closer to hatred, turned inward. “While he was holding the General down? Did you try to stop him? Did you push him off? Or did you just stand there and watch? Maybe you lik--”

“Kriffing hell!” Cody snapped, a second later, when Ults went for Bones, throwing a punch that landed solidly against his jaw. Cody grabbed Bones, shoving him back and stepping between them, a hand on Ults’ chest, pushing. “That’s  _ enough _ . We don’t have time for this. This ship is dead in the water and it needs repairs. Pack it the kriff in,  _ both  _ of you. And do what needs doing.”

“He said--”

“It doesn’t  _ matter  _ what he said,” Cody ground out, gripping both of them by the front of their blacks. None of them, he’d noticed, were wearing armor. No one had said anything about it, he’d certainly given no orders. And yet… He shook that thought aside to consider it later, perhaps. 

“If we don’t get the engines working again, we’re just going to sit here until the Empire finds us. Maybe they’ll put chips back in our head.” Cody would put a blaster against his head and pull the trigger, first, but that seemed less than helpful to say. “Maybe they’ll just kill us. Fine. What the  _ kriff _ do you think they’re going to do to the General?”

He watched Ults flinch back, blinking rapidly, mouth twisted as he turned his face away. Ults said, “Right, Commander. Sorry. I’ll--” he gestured to the side, vaguely, and Cody released him, let him get back to whatever task he’d set for himself.

Cody turned after a moment to look back at Bones, who was breathing hard, and said, “Wake up Lux.”

“I’m not done with you, yet,” Bones said, his voice raw and ragged. 

“Yes,” Cody said, patting him once on the chest and turning away, “you are.”

#

If nothing else, repairing the ship gave Cody something to keep his thoughts and his hands busy. It wasn’t so easy to start thinking about what he’d done, about Obi-Wan’s hair snagging around his gloved fingers, about the bloody marks he’d left behind, when he was trying to keep their vessel from flying apart.

One thing after another broke, kriffing Imperial boody traps, and there weren’t enough of them to fix everything all at once. They did the best they could, subsisting on caff and shreds of adrenaline.

He tried to keep an eye on Obi-Wan, as much as possible. Leaving Obi-Wan out of his sight for more than a few moments made his gut start to hurt, left him distracted and worried, despite his responsibilities.

Bad things happened to Obi-Wan when he wasn’t there. 

Bad things happened to Obi-Wan when he  _ was  _ there. 

Cody swallowed, focusing on welding together a ruptured coolant line, and ignoring the ache in his side and back of a wound healing improperly.

#

They’d been adrift for at least three days - Cody was having a hard time keeping track - by the time they got long-range scanners operational again. A runner from the bridge came to find him - they didn’t have communications up, yet - and by the time Cody got there Obi-Wan was already there, and for a jarring, confusing moment, Cody felt like he was stepping into the past. 

Obi-Wan had always seemed like he belonged on the bridge, the heart of the  _ Negotiator _ , and--and that had all twisted sideways and wrong. Obi-Wan was wearing blacks that hung baggy off of him, his hair too long and his beard growing in uneven, dark bags under his eyes, his left sleeve knotted into place, and--

“Commander,” he said, glancing over his shoulder, towards where Cody had frozen in the doorway, “there you are. It seems we may have guests.”

Cody nodded, gripping the edges of his control and stepping forward. “Imperial signature,” he said, looking over the scans, his gut clenching cold and hard.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, expression still and calm, and something about his steadiness seeped into Cody, the way it always had, let him breathe a little easier. 

He looked over at Crys, who had fixed the scanners, apparently, and said, “Are we going to have engines back in time to get out of here?”

Crys grimaced and shrugged. “Maybe, sir.” 

Maybe wasn’t the answer he’d been hoping for, but it was better than ‘no.’ “We could evacuate,” Crys added, mouth twisting down in the corners.

Cody shook his head, harshly, but it was Obi-Wan who answered, like he was picking thoughts up from Cody’s head, the way it had always been, between them, voice a rasp, “To what end? They’d just pick up the escape pods. Oh, maybe they’d miss a few, but out here… You’d just drift. Die of dehydration before anyone found you.”

“Get everyone who might be taking some bunk time up,” Cody said, watching the blip on the scanners get closer. “Let’s get her moving again.”

“Sir,” Cyrs said with a sharp nod, before he turned on his heel and marched away. Cody took a breath and glanced over to find Obi-Wan watching him already, blue eyes bright even with the dark bags under them, and if the Empire took the ship, if they got their hands on Obi-Wan again, Cody wondered if he’d have the wherewithal to save him…

“Cody?” Obi-Wan said, quietly, head cocking to the side, and Cody wondered what Obi-Wan might be picking up from his emotions. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Cody lied, taking his hand away from his blaster. “We should get to work.” He’d keep Obi-Wan close, stay beside him, until they resolved this situation with the Imperial ship, one way or another.

#

The next hours were a blur. There was nothing else to do but throw themselves at repairs and  _ hope _ . There weren’t enough of them, really, to operate such a large ship. They were scattered, working on repairs that became easier as the engineers got comms back up, allowing them to coordinate their efforts more easily.

Every one of them worked, desperately, even Obi-Wan, who knew next to nothing about repairing ships. The Force was very useful for holding things into position, if nothing else. He was holding a coolant vent into place as Cody stretched under it, re-calibrating a control pump, when the engines thrummed to life, all at once.

Cody felt the vibrations come up through the floor, into his back, and let out a hoarse, relieved sound. He heard cheering, from somewhere down the corridor, and a moment later the ship jerked into proper motion; his men knew their jobs well enough to get them the kriff away without waiting for him to give a specific order.

He aligned the last sensor with a swell of relief and slid his way out from under the coolant vent, panting out, “All done.”

“Good,” Obi-Wan said, across from him, and lowered his hand, the vent settling back into place before he stumbled a step back, far enough to lean against the wall, his breathing shallow. 

Cody looked away from him, pain clenching around his ribs, and said, “Can’t believe that worked.”

“I can,” Obi-Wan said, dragging Cody’s attention back. His mouth was quirked up in the corners, a shadow of what his smile used to be, as he continued, “I knew you’d all get her flying again.”

Cody wished he’d had so much faith. He wondered how Obi-Wan managed it, how he’d been able to trust that they’d succeed, after they’d failed so terribly, over and over again. He swallowed, hard, blinking to try to get rid of the stinging in his eyes.

There was, abruptly, nothing that needed his immediate attention. The engines were working, they were - somehow - getting away. And Obi-Wan was leaning against the wall across from him, trembling and trying to hide it, his hand curled into a fist and pressed against his thigh.

Cody had stuck close to Obi-Wan, couldn’t seem to bear to be far away, but he’d--they’d barely spoken, and when they had it had been about the ship and repairs. Necessary tasks that had allowed him to keep focused.

He swallowed, his mouth bitter and his throat tight, and said the words that had been clogging up his head, for days, weeks, months, “General. I’m - I’m so sorry.”

He heard Obi-Wan’s breath catch. “You--you don’t need to--”

Cody shoved to his feet all in one movement, thoughts lurching in his head, heart jerking in his chest. “I hurt you,” he said, voice strained. “I do need--”

“It wasn’t you,” Obi-Wan cut in, taking a step away from the wall, reaching out towards him, and Cody jerked back, remembering the way he’d shaken and trembled, and-- Obi-Wan froze into place, expression agonized for just a moment, before he mastered it. His voice was a rasp, when he continued, “That - it wasn’t you doing it. It was -- you weren’t in control.”

Cody barked a laugh, hands aching as he clenched them into fists. He didn’t need the reminder that he hadn’t been in control. “I should have been,” he said, and shivered, all over. He should have been. Obviously, he’d had the ability to break the control. He’d just - just taken too long. 

Obi-Wan had his arm curled in and close, keeping his distance, and Cody didn’t blame him. “You didn’t--” 

Cody wondered how Obi-Wan could even look at him, and cut in, because he thought if they spoke anymore he might tear apart, inside, “You needed to contact someone. Communications are probably up.”

He felt Obi-Wan staring at him, but kept his face turned away, and, after a moment, Obi-Wan said, “Yes. They probably are. I’ll just…” He trailed off, and then turned on his heel, walking away. 

Cody let out a ragged breath, turned and slammed the side of his hand against the bulkhead, shoulders curling over as he panted, trying to regain some modicum of control. Obi-Wan could claim it hadn’t been him. But Cody remembered. Remembered each thing he’d done, remembered beating Obi-Wan, remembered holding him down, remembered--

Cody had never - never touched anyone, before. Not - not intimately. He’d only ever recalled wanting to touch Obi-Wan and the war had stood between them, and… he’d been content to wait. He’d never touched anyone, but he had touched himself, he knew what it was like to find completion, pleasure cresting high and--

And he’d held Obi-Wan down and forced him and -- and Obi-Wan could say whatever he liked, about how it hadn’t been Cody. It had been his body, regardless of anything else. His body, and he’d -- he’d came, found release with Obi-Wan shaking and pleading with him, blood in Obi-Wan’s hair tangled around his fingers, and--

And he knew very well what that made him.

Not all the threats to Obi-Wan were outside the ship.

Cody hit the wall, again, taking a sort of comfort in the ache up his arm, the splintering pain. He swallowed the bitter saliva in his mouth and scrubbed a hand across his face, getting itchy under his skin and up his spine.

There really wasn’t any thought to pushing away from the wall and going to find Obi-Wan, just to - just to make sure he was alright.


	13. Exhaustion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for all past trauma and mental despair.

Communication with the few people Obi-Wan had left to trust in the galaxy wasn’t easy, but he remembered how to do it, sending a coded message off to Alderaan, hoping for the best. He knew an immediate answer was unlikely, but lingered on the bridge, anyway.

The alternatives were not appealing. He knew he ought to, really, go to the quarters he’d been given. He’d visited the room, once, during the time they’d spent aboardship. The walls had been grey, and for a moment, standing in the doorway, he’d had a jarring sense of being in two places at once.

He’d held onto the doorframe with his hand, breathing slow and steady through his nose, making himself focus on the present, the way he’d learned to do long ago, the first time he’d come back from a mission that left behind more than physical scars. The room on the ship had a little bed, sheets neatly tucked in, and even a viewport.

There was no drain in the floor. In fact, the door set off to one side implied the presence of an actual fresher. Maybe even a sonic shower. There hadn’t been time to enjoy such a luxury with the ship broken down and dying. Obi-Wan had managed to step inside the room, to remain there for less than a minute before he had to open the door again and stumble out, backwards, going until his back bumped the far wall, his heart beating too fast in his chest.

“Sir?” Cody had asked, emotions a knot that Obi-Wan couldn’t work through, ragged concern in his voice.

And Obi-Wan had managed to say, wondering why Cody had been in the hall outside his quarters, “We should get back to work.”

There was no work to be done, while he waited for a message back from Bail. He fiddled with small repairs on the bridge, and breathed a sigh of relief when a reply came through, sparing him the need to make further excuses to avoid his quarters and the silent stillness within them.

The reply he got, short and coded, limited as much as possible to give nothing away if it were intercepted, included coordinates and a brief message. He decoded it and read it over twice, before Cody said, frowning at the screen, “That’s deep in Wild Space.”

“It is,” Obi-Wan said, considering the travel time of such a voyage, wondering what would be waiting at the other side. He knew barely anything about the rebellion that Bail mentioned in the missive. Nor could he imagine why anyone in it would be happy to see  _ him _ .

“Is that where we’re going?” Tektek asked, walking over from the station he’d been repairing; weapon’s systems, Obi-Wan thought, the lay-out of the bridge wasn’t quite the same as the  _ Negotiator’s _ had been.

Obi-Wan shrugged, staring at the coordinates. “That’s up to everyone, I suppose.” He glanced over at Tektek, working a smile onto his mouth. “You can all go wherever you like.” There was, at least, a kind of relief in that realization. 

His men - this portion of them, anyway, and Obi-Wan did not know how many more survived - were free. Freer even than they’d been during the War. Free from the orders of the Senate, free from any minders that might have been sent after them from Kamino, free from the control in their heads. They could go and do whatever they liked. Finally.

“Sure,” Tektek said, a little frown on his face, “so where are you going?”

Obi-Wan reached up to rub at his chin with a hand he didn’t have anymore and closed his eyes, briefly, marshalling his expression. “I suppose,” he said, when his voice felt steady, “I’ll go see what’s waiting at the end of these coordinates.”

He had nothing else better to do. He could return to Tatooine, but… it seemed unlikely Luke needed his protection, anymore. He’d run, after his first trip to Mustafar, tried to bury himself away from all the rest of the galaxy.

It hadn’t worked.

There seemed to be little point to trying the same thing again.

“Set a course,” Cody said, and Obi-Wan turned to blink over at him.

“You don’t have to take me there,” he said, cautiously, because Cody’s emotions were always held so tightly. He felt like he was walking on a wire, like he was waiting for an explosion. His men were hurt inside, he could feel it, and he still didn’t know how to help. He’d tried to apologize several times, but it got him nowhere. He got the distinct feeling that having him around made them feel worse. And so he swallowed and said, evenly as he could, “This is your ship--”

“Our ship,” Cody interrupted, echoed by Tektek and the other troopers around the room.

Obi-Wan’s heart ached. He didn’t know how he was hurting them, or how to make it stop, but he was touched that they still wanted to include him. “Our ship, then,” he said. “But, if you want to drop me--”

“We don’t,” Cody bit out, emotions all sharp edges, just for a moment, gaze snapping up, his eyes dark and fierce.

Obi-Wan held his gaze - it was rare, Cody seemed to avoid looking directly at him, most of the time - and said, “I’d like to give everyone the option to decide.”

Cody blinked and then shrugged. “Of course,” he said, and then looked away, jaw clenched before he continued, “Do you want to go alone?”

Obi-Wan thought of his quarters, the empty cell on Mustafar, his hovel on Tatooine, and shuddered. He said, before he could stop himself, “No. I -- no. Not alone. But--”

“There you are,” Bones interrupted, storming into the room with a scowl, and it took Obi-Wan a moment to realize he was talking to Cody. “I told you to get down to the infirmary after the situation was resolved.”

“It wasn’t resolved,” Cody shot back, and Bones scowled at him.

Obi-Wan slipped towards the door while they were arguing. He thought, perhaps, he’d better ask around, make sure his men really wanted to head off into Wild Space. Force knew they deserved the choice to determine their own future, and if it kept him busy, well…

So much the better. Moving helped him stay awake, in any case. And he wasn’t ready to risk sleeping.

#

All of his men - they weren’t really  _ his  _ men anymore, he knew that, they were their own people - seemed to want to head off to Wild Space. He wasn’t sure why. Perhaps they just didn’t know where else to go, yet. Perhaps they wanted to stick together.

He understood that. 

Obi-Wan spoke to as many people as he could find, eventually ending up near one of the group freshers on the ship. He stood outside for a moment, feeling gritty and filthy, mind buzzing with loud exhaustion.

He couldn’t recall the last time he’d bathed properly, the last time he’d been able to just stand under water for as long as he wanted and clean himself off. He knew he stank. There was blood caked over his skin, peeling off here and there, augmented with oil and filth from ship repairs.

There were troopers in the room. He felt their presence and reached his hand out, almost touching the door controls.

There had been communal baths at the Temple. Beautiful, tiled rooms with pools of various temperatures, to accommodate Jedi from different worlds. Some had been fresh water, others salt, some had contained nutrients that gave Obi-Wan a terrible rash, but brought on the colors in Master Fisto’s skin.

He’d grown up playing in the pools, relaxing, surrounded by those he cared about, by his family.

The Jedi were all dead. Aside from Master Yoda, he did not know for sure that any others survived, though he hoped, he hoped so desperately that his message had gotten through, that there were others out there, safe and hidden and--

And he shoved all of those thoughts aside. He just wanted to be clean. He’d scrubbed down around his men - not his men, their own men - before, during the war. But - but his presence hadn’t hurt them, then. Being around him didn’t make their emotions stain out into the Force, so thick that it tightened his throat.

He took a step back, turned, and made himself go to his quarters. It was just a room. Just a few walls and a bunk. It had a fresher of its own and he worked to keep his breathing steady as the door closed at his back.

He focused on his pulse - racing - as he walked across the room, tugging off the blacks he’d been wearing for too many days. He left them piled on the floor, reaching out to turn on the water - he didn’t want a sonic shower, not then - and freezing as he caught a look at himself in the mirror.

He’d not… seen himself for some time. Not in anything but the reflections off of Anakin’s helmet. He’d managed to convince himself that those were, for the most part, warped. Perhaps they hadn’t been. 

His hair was a tangle, grown to hang over his ears and in his face. There was so much white in it, far more than he remembered even from Tatooine. His beard was starting to grow back in, stubbly across his cheeks and jaw. White in that hair, too, he noted.

There were dark circles under his eyes and his cheeks cut sharp. He’d lost weight he couldn’t afford to lose. Too many ribs stood up against his skin. No wonder the troopers kept trying to get him to eat; he’d lost count of how many nutrient packs they’d brought him over the days of repair. 

His skin bore new scars. He could see the edges of the brands Anakin had left on his back, the burns raised and red. His gaze roamed across the mirror until he couldn’t avoid, any longer, looking at his left arm.

It just...stopped, a bit above where his elbow had once been, and he shuddered, hearing Anakin’s voice in his head, staring across into the past, into Tektek’s eyes, Anakin saying, “This is fair, isn’t it? You deserve this, don’t you?”

Obi-Wan made it to the toilet before he gagged, vomit rising up his throat so suddenly it made him dizzy. He spat down into the bowl, afterwards, shivery all over and breathing hard. The smell of burned skin was stuck in his nose. He needed to bathe. That was all. Needed to get clean. It would help, he knew from experience.

The water was hot, when he stepped under it. He scrubbed at his hair, at his skin, vicious with the movements, watching filthy water swirl around his feet and down the drain. Eventually, the water ran clear. Obi-Wan braced his hand against the wall and let the water run over him, the warmth feeding the exhaustion in his head.

He didn’t remember the last time he had slept. Whatever he’d done in the bacta, back on Mustafar, it hadn’t been restful. Nothing on Mustafar had been restful. Whatever he’d done as Cody carried him away hadn’t been sleep, either. Unconscious wasn’t the same as sleeping.

He shivered, turning off the water eventually. There was a towel, hanging outside the stall. He grabbed it and learned how to dry off with one hand. There was a little clothing locker out in the room. It had a set of blacks - clean - in it. Obi-Wan pulled them on quickly.

He liked having clothes to wear, again. It made him feel… further away from everything Anakin had done, even if they didn’t fit right. He knotted the left sleeve, awkward with only one hand, and then stood there, breathing.

Exhaustion battered at the back of his eyes. He knew, perfectly well, that he ought to lay down and sleep. It would help. He’d always done what he needed to do. So he marched stiffly over to the bed and made himself lay down.

The mattress and pillow were nothing special. They felt the same as his bed on the  _ Negotiator _ . He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Sleep. That was what he needed. He’d recovered from - well, perhaps not worse.

But he’d recovered. Before. From similar torture.

He’d had help.

He exhaled and closed his eyes, stretching out his mind throughout the ship, checking on the troopers. They all felt worn thin. Exhausted. Hurt and aching. He did what he could to soothe them, the dark behind his eyes getting heavier, harder to hold at bay, and he slept. Briefly.

He dreamed of hands holding him down, fingers burning hot as brands pressed into his skin, smoke rising off of his body as he thrashed and tried to get away, unable to scream as Anakin stepped behind him, lowering a long, slightly curved brand, glowing white hot, pushing it--

Obi-Wan jerked awake with a whine caught behind his teeth, sweaty under his clothes, breathing raggedly, his blood pounding wildly in his veins. According to the chrono beside the mattress, he’d been asleep around an hour. 

“Force,” he panted out, shaking, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and resting his elbow on his thigh, hanging his head down, trying to control his breathing. He could still feel the burning. Still smell char in his nose. He pushed to his feet, swaying for just a moment, and swallowed bile.

Sleep could wait, he decided. Surely there was something on the ship that needed doing. He stepped out of the room to find Cody walking down the hall, a frown on his face and his hands clenched at his sides. Cody paused as his door opened and said, “I thought you were sleeping.”

Obi-Wan made his mouth curve up in the edges. “Not tired,” he lied. “Thought I’d get something to eat.”

Cody’s gaze cut to the side. He nodded, said, “Alright,” and followed Obi-Wan, without another word, down to the mess hall.

#

There were other troopers eating, when they arrived. Obi-Wan grabbed a nutrient pack. They watched him, all of them, keeping an eye on him as he crossed the room, their emotions bunching up from his presence.

He paused beside Tektek, looking at his recently shaved head, and asked, thoughts jerky and uncoordinated with exhaustion, “Are there scissors around here, somewhere? A razor?” His hair hung too long, falling into his face, and he hated--

Hated the memories of fingers clenched in it, of Anakin, pulling him around by the strands, forcing his head down and--

“Yes, sir,” Tektek said, looking up at him, grip tightening on his fork for a moment. 

“Do you think I could borrow them?” Obi-Wan asked, trying to smile and not quite managing it, trying to be normal, trying to be...whatever it was they needed him to be, to stop them all radiating such agony into the Force. He glanced down at himself and said, aiming for rueful, “I don’t know how well I’ll do, but anything is better than this.”

“I’ll help you, General,” Mav said, standing from where he’d been sitting across from Tektek. He had - perhaps of all of Obi-Wan’s men - gone through the most different styles during the war. He’d never quite settled on one he liked. Or perhaps the different choices were what he liked, in and of themselves. 

“You don’t--” Obi-Wan started, but Mav had already turned on his heel and marched off. Obi-Wan blinked, watching him go.

Tektek said, “Sit here, sir, he’ll be back in a moment,” and Obi-Wan had thought they didn’t want him around - he made them  _ hurt  _ \- but it must not have been so terrible. Perhaps they could just tell how much he didn’t want to be alone.

He sat, with a little smile, Cody pulling out the chair beside him and joining them, wordlessly. Cody, he noted, with a sideways glance, still looked exhausted, hurt radiating out of him. Obi-Wan needed to have a word with Bones.

He opened his nutrient pack, sighed at the contents - still better than the gruel he’d subsited on under Anakin’s care - and took a bite, aware of glances being exchanged over his head. Conversation resumed, slowly, as he ate.

“We were talking about what to name the ship,” Tektek offered, his food finished, though he made no effort to get up. “What do you think we should name her?”

Obi-Wan glanced up, surprised he was being asked. “What’s her name, now?”

It was Cody who answered, flat, as Mav made his way back through the room, supplies in his arms. He said, “The  _ Executioner _ .”

Obi-Wan grimaced, swallowing the last bite. He’d learned to eat quickly very young, and never forgotten how. It was so much harder for people to take food away from you if you’d already swallowed it. He said, “Yes, I think we can do better than that. Are you keeping her, then?”

Tektek glanced towards Cody and then shrugged. “We thought, sir, well. This is one of the Empire’s new models. She’s built to fight. Be a shame to let her go to waste.”

Obi-Wan nodded. He thought about Coruscant, about the Temple, about all of his family, slaughtered, about his men, turned inside out and trapped in their own minds. Anakin had done many things, but he hadn’t been the architect of all this suffering.

“It would,” he agreed, finally, as Mav reached them and deposited his supplies on the table.

He’d found a brush somewhere, and Obi-Wan felt an embarrassing sting in his eyes just from the sight of it. It had been...a long time, since he’d brushed his hair. Mav reached out, making to touch his shoulder, and then froze when Cody made a sharp, abrupt noise, stiffening beside him.

Their emotions were a painful tangle, so many emotions, all trying to tug Obi-Wan down. He felt so tired; it made them more difficult to handle. He braced his hand on the table, reeling with it all as Mav asked, “Sir, is it -- can I--?”

Obi-Wan managed a nod, after a moment. “Yes,” he said. “Go right ahead.”

And Cody stayed tense as a compressed spring beside him, as Mav tried to work through the tangles, eventually giving up and cutting out the worst of the knots. The troopers around them bandied names back and forth as Mav worked, and each hank of hair that fell made Obi-Wan feel lighter, until he thought he might float away.

“How short do you want it?” Mav asked, eventually.

And Obi-Wan said, “Shorter,” without even thinking about it. He didn’t want it long enough for anyone to twist fingers into it, he wanted--

“I can clip it,” Mav said, cautiously, and Obi-Wan nodded.

The razor buzzed at the back of his head, slicing away more of the hair, until Obi-Wan could imagine that all the parts Anakin had touched were gone, laying around him across the floor, and they shouldn’t have done this in the mess hall, but…

“There you go,” Mav said, when he finished, turning off the razor, and Obi-Wan reached up to run his hand over the top of his head. The hair wasn’t shaved completely. It prickled his palm. He didn’t think he’d had it so short since his Padawan days, and--

“Thank you,” he said, looking up and crooking a smile onto his mouth. Mav nodded; he felt… steadier, through the Force. Not so raw and shredded as he gathered things up, and Obi-Wan said, quietly, “So, about the name.”

“I was thinking,” Cody said, tone stiff and flat, and he hadn’t moved, though he was long finished his meal, “The  _ Recompense _ .”

Obi-Wan froze, swallowing, but his men - they were their own men - well, if anyone deserved a chance for justice, a chance to make things right… He nodded, and said, “A good choice.” And he was happy to just sit there, listening to them all discuss it, for a while.

#

Obi-Wan couldn’t just sit in the mess hall forever, as much as he wouldn’t have minded. Bones swung by, eventually, told him he looked exhausted, and pointedly suggested he ought to go sleep.

Obi-Wan didn’t have the energy to fight, so he nodded and made his way towards his quarters. He tried to sleep again. He made it a few hours, before he was roused, the taste of vomit in his mouth and the burning memory of Cody’s hands blazed across his skin.

He got up.

Over the next days of travel he snagged pieces of sleep here and there, knowing, deep down, that he needed more. He sorted away his own nightmares, working through them, but when he was sleeping… the pain of everyone else on the ship tended to slip into his head.

He didn’t only have his nightmares, in the days that followed.

He dreamed the dreams of others, and they all featured him, every single one. He closed his eyes and watched himself scream - had he looked like that? - and felt himself struggling against a borrowed body, as, in the dreams, he did terribly things to his own body, and--

And he knew he needed sleep, but… Staying awake hurt less.

#

They’d nearly reached the coordinates where they were to stop when Obi-Wan found a little room where some of the troopers had gathered - they were cleaning their blasters, almost silent - and he slipped inside, settling in a corner. They noticed him, he felt their emotions shift at his presence, but none of them said anything.

They just… glanced his way as he folded his legs and drew his back straight. They’d likely gotten used to him meditating. He’d done it often, once upon a time. He tried to sink down into the Force, looking for serenity within his mind, and jarred, just a little, when Cody came through the door a few minutes later.

Obi-Wan kept his eyes closed, kept focusing. 

Meditating would help restore his energy, somewhat. He drew in a deep breath, planning to order his thoughts, and sleep snuck up on him, swallowing him down.

#

Obi-Wan dreamed of burning shackles around his wrists - both of them - and Anakin, as he’d been once, but with burning yellow eyes, snarling, “This is what you deserve, isn’t it? Say it!” And pain and pain and pain and--

He woke with his heart trying to beat out of his chest, trying to tear through his ribs. There were hands on his shoulders, familiar and well-known, a voice saying, “--up, just a dream, it’s--”

Obi-Wan lurched, snapping his eyes open, his veins burning and his gut hard, reaching out for the Force, desperately, trying to tell what was real and what was only in his head. Cody was - was crouched in front of him, touching him --  _ holding him down, fingers digging into his skin  _ \-- radiating horror and concern and guilt and--

Obi-Wan flinched, couldn’t help it, a reflex in his spine making him pull back, trying to scramble away. He felt Cody’s emotions flare out even as he jerked his hands off of Obi-Wan’s shoulders. And that was worse, somehow, being alone, again --  _ laying in an empty cell, alone, nothing but the drain and _ \-- 

Cody froze, went still and stiff, emotions blanking, and there was movement, past his shoulder, sudden and jerking. Obi-Wan flinched again, curling his arm up, automatic to protect his head, strangling off a cry in his throat, and Cody twisted to look over his shoulder, snarling, “Get back! All of you! Now!”

Obi-Wan listened to them scramble back, their emotions all torn to shreds, pulling him deeper into a spiral of his own making. Shame and horror surged through Obi-Wan. He knew it hurt them to be around him, he should have been more cautious. They all felt agonized, flayed open, and he worked to control himself, to pull the nightmare apart into wisps, clearing his throat to rasp, “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Cody said, voice cracking.

“I know I failed you all,” Obi-Wan said, the edges of their dreams still curled up in his head. He could just close his eyes, feeling exhaustion digging its poisonous fingers into his brain, letting the words spill out. “I don’t blame you. For wanting to stay away from me. I--”

“Obi-Wan,” Cody sounded like he’d been gut-shot again. It was the first time he’d said Obi-Wan’s name in...so long. Obi-Wan shivered at the sound of it. Even during the war, it had been rare for Cody to use his name. He’d saved it for those special occasions, when he thought Obi-Wan was going to die.

“I’m very tired,” Obi-Wan said, trying to offer Cody a way out of this conversation, a way forward. And it was true, anyway.

“I’ll get you back to your quarters,” Cody said, softly, and Obi-Wan nodded. He should have never imposed on them, anyway.

#

Shouting woke Obi-Wan from a dream of clawing hands and teeth, eating into him. He jerked, terror translating over into the waking world for a moment--

And he reached out with the Force, trying to find out what was going on, and the first thing he touched was Cody’s mind, close by, overfull with fierce, bright emotions, all burning edges, protectiveness and anger blazing out of him.

“Sir!” a voice yelled from the doorway as light flooded in, and Obi-Wan’s memories slotted into place. He’d… fallen asleep in his bunk. He had no idea how long he’d slept, but his head felt heavy. “We’ve reached the coordinates,” Shortfuse said, worry and excitement moving through him. “And there’s a ship waiting, sir. Thought you’d want to know.”

“Kriff,” Obi-Wan said, rubbing at his face, glad to have something to focus on, something to hold onto. “I suppose we’d better go see who it is.”

#

“I’m not sure you should be here,” Cody said, five minutes later, as they reached the docking port on the ship. He’d said it three times already, expression flat and emotions tightly contained. “We can handle this.”

“So can I,” Obi-Wan said, lightly, checking the blaster in his hand again. He disliked using the weapons, but he disliked more the idea of using Anakin’s bloody red lightsaber, ever again. He listened to the docking ports whirl and hum, stretching out his senses towards the other ship, shivering at what he picked up, hesitating to believe it was real. 

“Besides,” he said, as the airlock hissed, preparing to open, “I don’t think we’re going to have trouble.”

It had been years since he’d felt the mind on the other side of the door. And it was not...quite the same. There were major differences. But…

He held his breath as the airlock rose, caught a flash of white, and heard Cody make a harsh, flat sound. Cody grabbed him - apparently not so leery of touching him, now - and yanked him back a step, blaster up and drawn on the man in trooper armor on the other side of the door, who was  _ also  _ moving, shoving the figure with him back a step, moving in front of her, blaster raised.

Obi-Wan gripped Cody’s wrist, forcing his hand down, snapping, for the benefit of the rest of his men, “Don’t shoot!  _ No one  _ fire a shot, do I make myself clear?”

And, from behind the trooper before them, a familiar voice said, cracking with shock, “Master Obi-Wan?”

Ahsoka stepped around the side of her partner - and Obi-Wan thought he recognized Rex’s mind, too, not understanding how that was possible - ignoring him when he tried to pull her back a step, hissing, “What the kriff are you doing?”

“They’re not chipped,” Obi-Wan said, staring forward, at a ghost. He’d thought Ahsoka dead, like all the rest of their family, but there she stood in front of him, taller and sharper, her montrals curved and pointed, but her eyes just the same, wide and shocked and aching.

“Master?” she croaked again, taking a step towards him, looking him up and down, her expression growing more and more horrified by the moment. And then she was to him, reaching out, and Cody made a hard, sharp sound in his throat, gripping Obi-Wan’s arm and pulling him bodily back a step.

“It’s alright,” Obi-Wan said, not sure who he was talking to, specifically. Perhaps all of them.

Past Ahsoka’s shoulder, the trooper in the airlock removed his helmet, familiar blond hair still trimmed short, a few new scars over his face, and Rex was  _ alive; _ Ahsoka was  _ alive _ . Bail had sent them to Obi-Wan, he’d--

Ahsoka made a hoarse sound, and threw herself at him, arms around his neck, pulling him close. Obi-Wan buried a flinch, an automatic drive to jerk away from her. He managed, after a moment, to curl his arm around her, instead, while, somewhere far away, Rex demanded, “What the kriff is going on?”


	14. Found Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for all past trauma, discussions of torture and non-con. Considerations of suicide.

Messages from Ahsoka’s contacts in the Core worlds were few and far between. Usually, they didn’t add up to much. The one that had plunged them across Wild Space had been flagged urgent. “It’s probably nothing,” Ahsoka said, even as they cut across the black of space, and Rex believed her.

It was usually nothing.

When it wasn’t, it was a problem.

They came out of hyperspace alongside one the new Imperial cruisers, a hulking beast of a ship, all sharp lines and jagged edges. They’d been monitoring it, on their approach, and it showed no signs of arming weapons, or raising shields, but…

Rex whistled anyway, looking at the ship. “You seeing this?” he asked, looking over when Ahsoka didn’t answer, her gaze gone distant. “Ahsoka?”

She shook her head and said, “There’s something… strange.”

Strange meant trouble, as far as Rex was concerned. He checked his blaster as they docked, watched her draw both her sabers, and nudged her in the side. “Sure we shouldn’t just bolt?” he asked, waiting for the port to open.

“No,” she said, staring forward, “there’s--I think we need to be here. I…” She trailed off, shaking her head, lekku curling up on the ends as the only display of her nerves as the airlock opened and--

Rex didn’t waste breath cursing, jerking his blaster up, because there were  _ troopers  _ on the other side of the hatch, and they might not kill him on sight, but Ahsoka--

And a ghost, a dead man walking, stepped between Rex and - and  _ kriffing hell _ , that was Cody - and said, “Don’t shoot!” Rex stared across into General Kenobi’s impossible face, and felt the entire galaxy lurch into a brand new alignment, dragging Rex along with it, the next moments all confusing madness.

“There still a chip in your head?” Cody asked Rex, as Ahsoka grabbed General Kenobi. He hadn’t holstered his blaster, Rex noticed, just lowered it a little at Kenobi’s request. He was tense across his shoulders, unblinking.

“Not for three years,” Rex said, carefully, because he’d never come upon any of his brothers already unchipped; he should have known if anyone would start doing it en masse, it would be Kenobi and the 212th.

“Good,” Cody said, with a brief nod, “but you understand that we’re going to need to confirm that. Crys. Take him to the infirmary. Have Bones look him over.”

And Rex almost protested. He didn’t - technically - take orders from Cody anymore. The GAR was nothing but smashed pieces. But he looked past Cody’s shoulder, to General Kenobi - what was left of General Kenobi - he didn’t look like himself, not at all, his hair shaved close to his scalp and his beard barely a scruff across his jaw, swimming in trooper blacks, the left sleeve tied off and--

Most of the Jedi had died within moments of Order 66 being issued. A few had survived longer. They’d found some of them. What was left of them.

Rex swallowed, hard, gaze drawn back to Ahsoka’s back, because it was easy - too easy - to imagine what could have happened to her, to imagine her eyes gone all faded and distant like Kenobi’s. He cut his eyes towards Cody and wondered what the kriff, exactly, had happened. He said, “Sure. Ahsoka, I’ll catch up.”

She looked over at him,  _ her  _ expression a mix of yearning and hope, and nodded.

It felt wrong, leaving her there surrounded by troopers, but General Kenobi was at her side. Even with one arm, even looking like death warmed over, Rex couldn’t quite believe that he’d ever let anything happen to Ahsoka.

“So,” he said, falling into step beside Crys, “what the kriff happened to you?”

#

A part of Ahsoka had always hoped Master Obi-Wan was still alive, out there somewhere. She’d heard his message, transmitting out across the stars, warning any survivors away from the Temple.

She’d known he survived the initial kill order, and she’d thought… well. If anyone could survive with the entire galaxy trying to kill them, it would have been Master Obi-Wan. She’d imagined, sometimes, coming upon him in some dive bar or on a battlefield, meeting each other’s eyes and falling into step, back to back--

She found him on an Imperial ship. When she’d thought about finding him, he’d looked the same way she last saw him, tired and worn down, but alright. She’d always imagined that he’d crook a smile at her.

Obi-Wan smiled there in the halls of the  _ Recompense _ . But it didn’t touch his eyes. He looked different, wrong, with his hair trimmed so short and his beard just growing in. He was, for some reason, wearing trooper blacks. He swam in them. And the left sleeve was tied off, empty….

“We can put you in touch with the rest of the rebellion,” she said, trying to stay focused, shooting him another look as they walked towards the bridge.

Obi-Wan nodded, glancing over his shoulder at Cody, who, she noticed, was following a step back. His hand was still resting on his blaster. He looked different, too, the lines around his mouth graven deeper, his eyes harder.

He’d always seemed warm to her, before. Even through the Force.

He felt cold, walking down the hall of the ship, as Obi-Wan said, “I’ll have to talk to the men. See what they want to do.”

Ahsoka made a soft sound of acknowledgement. She hadn’t been around so many troopers since everything fell apart. It made her lekku itch, knowing they were all around. She wished Rex hadn’t gone off to the infirmary. She said, setting that thought aside, “We can find places for them, if they...don’t want to join. They don’t have to stay with--”

“We’re staying with the General,” Cody said, and even his voice sounded different, full of sharper edges that threatened to draw blood.

“Well, that’s fine, too,” Ahsoka said, glancing back and forth between them, cautiously tracing their emotions with the Force and recoiling after the briefest brush because it was all -- hurt. Terrible hurt, open wounds in need of immediate tending. 

The agony lingered there, right below the surface as they reached the bridge and punched in coordinates to, at least, get further away from their current position, just in case they were discovered. Ahsoka looked around the bridge - it reminded her, achingly, or both the  _ Resolute  _ and the  _ Peacemaker _ , but it felt...wrong.

Everything felt wrong. 

“You’ve been well?” Obi-Wan asked, something shadowed in his eyes, and Ahsoka considered the past three years, the fear and the desperation and the slow slog towards some kind of healing, some kind of life.

It seemed strange to realize, that, compared to him, she had most definitely been doing well. She nodded, and said, “Yes, Master.” And she flushed as she spoke, because she hadn’t called anyone by that title for so long, and it felt both presumptuous and embarrassing, mader her feel like the child she wasn’t anymore, and--

And it made Obi-Wan go still, his emotions blossoming huge for just a moment before he controlled them all down and away, where she couldn’t feel them. He cleared his throat, and said, “Why don’t you tell me more about what I’ve missed?”

#

Rex had seen plenty of his brothers over the past three years. Most of them had been on the other side of a blaster. It never hurt less, killing them, but he’d gotten… better at it. They’d saved a few of them, freed them, brought them back to themselves. But that had been scattered souls, here and there.

And so many of them had…. Not handled freedom well.

Rex had come out of it with something to live for, someone to keep fighting for.

Too many of his brothers had only come out with crushing guilt and despair. Too many of them recalled killing their generals, their friends. Too many of them remembered the atrocities they’d been used to carry out.

They found ways to get away from it.

Rex looked into the faces of the survivors of the 212th on his way to the infirmary and felt a shiver down his spine. They looked, to a man, exhausted and worn down, with shadows in their eyes, tension in every move they made.

He listened to Crys’ brief run down of what had happened, freezing for a step when Crys said, “Skywalker rounded us up. As many of the 212th as he could find.” By the time he started moving again, Crys was explaining that they’d been kept on Mustafar. Waiting.

“It’s good to see you again,” Crys said, outside the door to the infirmary, gripping Rex’s forearm and flashing him a thin smile.

“Not going to stay and chat?” Rex asked, raising an eyebrow, getting the feeling he was only digging at the surface of whatever was going on, and Crys shook his head.

“I need to go check on the General,” he said, like it was obvious.

Rex blinked. “He’s still a General, huh?” he asked, trying to inject some levity into the situation. 

The look Crys gave him curdled any hope of that. “Yes,” Crys said, and nothing else, turning on his heel and walking down the hall. 

Rex shook off the feeling of tension in the middle of his shoulder blades, ducking into the infirmary and it was so strange to see one of his brothers in there, working, instead of a droid or the medics that had joined the rebellion. It threw him into a strange headspace, made him feel almost like the last three years hadn’t happened.

He’d ended up in the  _ Negotiator’s _ medical bay more than once, getting treatment for all his hurts. He said, “Hey, Bones,” as the medic turned to face him, and got a long whistle for his trouble.

“Look at you,” Bones said, shaking his head, before his mouth hardened. “Unchipped?”

“You’re supposed to double-check,” he said, and Bones nodded, waving him forward. Rex submitted to the examination, thankfully brief, and said, as he sat back up, “How’d you all…” he waved a hand. “Get past them, anyway?” Bones froze, looking to one side, quickly. Rex watched him, going still in response. “Bones?”

“We…” Bones blinked rapidly a few times and cleared his throat. “I assume the same way you did. And any others of us, who got away.”

Rex swallowed, aching inside. “Not many of us have,” he said, focusing on a spot on the far wall. He didn’t want to admit, yet, that he hadn’t seen so many of his brothers free before. Ever. Even during the war, it had been lurking inside them. He shuddered. “Kenobi freed you, then?”

Bones sucked in a breath. When he spoke, the words seemed to come from far away. “Yes. I suppose he did. Indirectly. A few of us managed to...break them.”

Rex stared at him. He had no reason to believe such a thing was even possible. “Are you serious?”

Bones jerked out a nod, turning away to look at a scan that was reporting, as far as Rex could tell, nothing. “Yeah. You push hard enough against them, you give yourself an aneurysm. On the plus side, it also breaks them.” Bones scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “You didn’t know about this?”

“Kriffing hell,” Rex said, shuddering down his back. “No, I’ve never heard of anyone  _ breaking  _ them.” 

“Not surprised,” Bones said, gaze going distant and unfocused. “Half of us that managed it died. If the Commander hadn’t dragged us to the medbay…” He trailed off, and then shook his head, hard. “You’re clean. Free to go.”

“Go where?” Rex asked, still trying to process the idea that they’d - they’d broken the thing in their heads, somehow. All on their own. He swallowed bile, thinking about his finger on the trigger, Ahsoka’s eyes on the other end of the barrel, thinking--

Well.

He hadn’t given himself an aneurysm.

“Wherever you want,” Bones said. “Tell the Commander he missed a check-in, if you see him.”

#

It took time to describe everything Obi-Wan had missed. They talked on the bridge, for a long time, about what the Rebellion had gotten up to, slowly trying to build some way to resist the Imperial forces sent against them.

Ahsoka watched Obi-Wan’s expression get still with each word she spoke. She wished she had more good news to share, but there was...so little to bring a spark of brightness into the world. 

“I should show you around,” Obi-Wan said, eventually, as she ran out of things to tell him. “Have you seen one of these models?”

“Not yet,” Ahsoka said. “This is a bigger target than we usually try to take.” They’d been scrambling, for years, trying to make a dent against an enemy that had beaten them before they even knew what was happening.

Holding onto even the barest scraps of hope had felt impossible. Ahsoka knew, most days, that they were doing little more than throwing pebbles at a krayt dragon. Most likely they weren’t even an irritation, but…

But it was better than giving up. At least she thought so, most days.

She listened to Obi-Wan talk about the ship as they moved through the halls, watched by troopers wherever they went. “And we have plenty of quarters,” Obi-Wan said, eventually, waving a door open along the hall and gesturing inside. “If you’d like to stay aboard during the trip. Your shuttle can stay docked.”

Ahsoka stepped into the room with a lurch in her chest, abruptly thrown back in time, to her quarters on the  _ Resolute _ and the  _ Peacemaker _ . If she looked at it just right, she could imagine her room, she could imagine turning and seeing Anakin standing in the doorway, come to check on her after a mission and--

And when she turned it was Obi-Wan still in the hall, talking with Cody, quietly. She cleared her throat, and said, “Could I talk to you, for a moment? Just… you?” Cody was making her feel more and more uneasy. The longer she was around him, the more off-balance she felt. 

She felt the whip-snap fast shift of his emotions at the suggestion, watched him stiffen his shoulders, but Obi-Wan nodded. “I’ll catch up with you shortly, Commander,” he said, and it seemed so odd to Ahsoka that they were using ranks, still.

She and Rex had stopped using them almost immediately.

She shook that thought aside as they resumed walking, before she drew a breath and asked, “Have you--have you seen Anakin?”

Obi-Wan’s emotions withdrew completely. She’d barely been aware of the soft touch of his mind against hers, soothing and familiar. It had been so long since she’d been around another Force user, much less someone she knew. It was startling to have it jerked away again, abruptly.

When he spoke, his voice was even, “Yes. He… found me. A few months ago.”

Ahsoka’s heart jerked in her chest. She’d seen Anakin a few times, from a distance. He’d looked so different, covered in his awful dark suit. Ahsoka swallowed. There’d been rumors, recently, that something had happened to him. She asked, quietly, “Where is he now?”

Obi-Wan stopped walking, just for a moment. He took a breath and said, “He’s one with the Force, now.”

“What?” That matched the reports they’d heard, but Ahsoka hadn’t believed those reports, not really. So many people had thought Anakin was dead, over the years, and they’d all of them been wrong. “Are you sure?”

Obi-Wan stared forward, expression some strange and still thing. “Yes,” he said, “I’m very sure.”

“But…” Ahsoka shifted her weight back and forth. Some part of her had always held out the hope that she’d find Anakin, find a way to get through to him. She’d left him, once, and -- and she’d thought, so many nights, that maybe if she’d been there, she could have protected him, kept him from Falling, if she hadn’t run away when he needed her-- “How?”

“He Fell,” Obi-Wan said, tone odd and blank. “Long ago. The Anakin you knew was gone, and--”

“I don’t believe that,” Ahsoka said, shaking her head. The Anakin she knew had been many things, including full of such sharp bright anger, sometimes. But she knew he’d been good, at the core. “He -- you were around him, are you telling me that you don’t think he could have come back?”

Something moved through the Force, an undercurrent that threatened to drag her under for a moment. Nothing showed on Obi-Wan’s expression. “He was gone,” he said, voice a rasp.

Ahsoka frowned, emotions twisting around in her gut. She’d always held onto the hope of bringing him back, of making things right, of making up for leaving, for not being there when he needed her, for-- “So - so you didn’t even try?” she asked, aware her voice was getting louder. “You were his Master, and you didn’t help him?”

#

Rex ended up in the mess. There were clusters of his brother there, talking to one another, and they pulled him over eagerly. They wanted to know everything, all about what had happened in the last three years, outside of their little bubble. 

He pulled up a chair and looked at the intent expressions on their faces, and told him what he knew. Mav looked shocked when he asked how long Rex had been under. “A few minutes,” he echoed, sounding numb and far away, his expression mirrored by the others gathered around.

“Yeah.” Rex had known he was lucky, known it even when he felt like the rest of the world was coming down. He’d escaped whatever had left his brothers all looking like hollowed out shells. He twirled the cup in his fingers and asked, “What about...all of you? How long…?”

“Until a few days ago,” Crys said, gaze cutting over to the side, tone getting flatter by the word, and Rex flinched, thinking about spending three years under, about what they must have gone through--

“What the kriff happened?”

Crys stared at nothing for a moment, and then looked his way, blinking. “What?”

Rex gestured around the room. “To all of you. I, kriffing hell, we got word, a few days back, that the Emperor was in a royal snit because - because Vader and his entire base got blown all to hell and--”

“Skywalker,” Mav cut in, sharp, tensing across his shoulders.

Rex blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Call him his name,” Mav said, flat, taking another long swallow of caff. “That’s who he always was.”

Rex processed that, slowly, leaning back in his chair. “So he is dead, then?” He got nods from all around, his brothers’ mouths curling up in the corners, brief flashes of fierce satisfaction passing across their expressions. “You’re sure?”

The look in Crys’ eyes made Rex want to reach for his blaster. He resisted. “The Commander killed him. Personally. Got confirmation himself,” Crys said, sure and calm and terrible. “He’s dead. Body is gone completely. Nothing to bring back, this time.”

“Kriff.” Rex scrubbed a hand over his face. “I-- _ how _ ?” Because he’d heard nothing but horror stories about Vader - Anakin - after the war. He’d turned into a monster. Some machine that just murdered everything in its path. Rex had done his best to keep Ahsoka away from him, succeeded, but…

“He left the Commander in charge,” Mav said, finger tapping on the side of his mug, that code the 212th had used, back in the day. Rex had never learned it, they’d been greedy with the secret. “While we were all chipped. When he got free…” He shrugged, eloquently.

Rex could imagine. Cody had been Marshal Commander for a reason. He’d always been good at finding the solutions to problems. “I still don’t… the Commander killed him?” He knew - though she didn’t talk about it much - that Ahsoka had still hoped to find Anakin one day. Bring him back. That happened, Rex supposed, sometimes.

“Put him down,” Mav said, grim and satisfied, taking a deep drink of his caff and twisting his mouth. “A better death than that motherkriffer deserved.”

Rex shivered. The chill around his brothers, the shadows in their eyes, reminded him too much of Umbara. He knew, very well, what his brothers looked like when they were pushed too far. “Because he’d turned to the Dark?” he asked, half because he’d gotten into the habit of digging for intel automatically, half because he knew his family, and he thought if they didn’t keep talking they might all implode.

Crys snorted, Mav shook his head, it was Ults - a medic Rex hadn’t ever seen much - who answered, “Because of what he did to the General.” And that got nods and murmurs of agreement from all the rest clustered around.

Rex turned his cup, kept his tone even when he asked, “What’d he do?”

“You’ve seen him,” Crys snapped, looking to the side, hands in fists again, knuckles standing against skin. Rex watched them all wind tighter, all at once, and wondered if digging at the subject actually  _ was  _ the right call. 

“It’s been three years since I saw General Kenobi,” he said, quietly, and it felt strange to call anyone General, these days, but he could read a room. Kenobi was still the General to all of his brothers. They didn’t need another shove closer to whatever cliff they were teetering on in their heads. “I didn’t know--”

“Skywalker did it,” Mav snarled, pushing to his feet and dragging the back of his hand across his mouth, taking a few agitated steps and pacing back. “All of it. For three months. Skywalker hurt him. Tried to tear him apart.” He paused, breathing heavily, and then admitted, tone cracking, “Made us help.”

“We tried not to,” Crys said, voice trembling, “Fought it, but he--he made us. We tried, but we couldn’t help him. Skywalker burned him and - and raped him and  _ took his arm  _ and we--”

“We should have tried harder,” Ults said, into the silence, when Crys cut off, covering his face with his hands, Rex staring at them with a pit opening in his chest, nothing at the bottom of it but darkness. 

He had a lurching, awful moment where his mind raced forward, dragging him into possibilities he didn’t want to consider. It was terribly easy to imagine Anakin finding Ahsoka, instead of Obi-Wan, terribly easy to consider her blue eyes shadowed and--

“Yes,” Cody said, startling Rex out of the spiralling horror of his thoughts. Rex twisted in his seat, watching Cody stalk over, a cup of caff in his hand. “We should have.” Cody kept going, apparently finished, and Rex rose to follow him, because none of his brothers looked well, but Cody...

Rex said, falling into step beside Cody as he made his way to a far table, empty of anyone else, “Bones is looking for you.” 

“He can keep looking.” Cody hissed a little at the burn of the caff, sitting with a scowl, one leg immediately bouncing up and down.

Rex stood for a moment, feeling the urge to wait for permission to sit, and then remembered he didn’t have to do that, any longer. He sat, watching Cody frown at nothing, and then said, carefully, “Doing alright?”

“Fine,” Cody said, not looking at him. 

Rex felt like he was balancing on a wire. When they’d come out to check out the intel, he hadn’t expected to walk into a situation like this. The entire ship felt like a bomb about to go off, like an explosion waiting to happen.

He didn’t like to think what would happen to his brothers, if that happened.

And so he cleared his throat and said, quietly, “It really wasn’t your fault.”

Cody’s mouth twisted, terribly. Everyone else had avoided Rex’s eyes, but Cody looked at him, and Rex wished, immediately, that he hadn’t. “The fuck would you know about whose fault it is?” Cody snarled. “You weren’t there. You got free, you looked after Ahsoka--”

“I got lucky,” Rex said, feeling it more than ever. “She figured out how to--”

“I beat him,” Cody cut in. Rex wasn’t sure he’d heard the interjection. Rex froze, bracing a hand on the table. “Skywalker ordered me to, and I did. He pleaded with me to stop and I didn’t listen. And I…” Cody’s jaw worked, soundlessly, for a moment, before he hissed, “and I raped him, so, you don’t get to come here, and tell me it wasn’t my fault, I--”

“Sithspit,” Rex whispered, as Cody’s words cut off again, both his hands balled to fists. “That’s -- Cody. You didn’t want to, that’s--the chip--”

“I broke the chip,” Cody spat, flat and hard, “So that’s no excuse. I broke it. Just not fast enough. I wasn’t strong enough. Didn’t want to do it badly enough, when I was--” 

“I’ve never heard of anyone else breaking the kriffing things,” Rex said, reaching out cautiously, gently putting a hand on Cody’s shoulder. He jumped, beneath Rex’s touch, muscles knotted and hard. “The things they made us do--”

“Made  _ us  _ do? What’d they make you do?” Cody demanded, looking over, and meeting his gaze was like taking a punch. 

“They would have made me kill her. Ahsoka,” Rex said, calm and honest, feeling Cody flinch under his hand. “I would have done it. Pulled the trigger and put a blaster bolt between her eyes and--and I couldn’t have stopped it. Wolffe killed General Koon. Bly killed Secura. Are you calling them murderers, because you know they’d have never--”

Cody pushed up and out of his chair, and for a moment Rex thought that he’d gone too far, pushed too much, but Cody wasn’t looking at him. His gaze was across the room, towards the door, where other troopers were pushing out, the atmosphere of the room changing, all at once.

“What’s going on?” Rex demanded, standing himself, following Cody as he crossed the room.

#

Ahsoka thought she’d seen Obi-Wan’s expression break, before. She’d seen him hurt, many times, certainly. Seen him walk off battlefields, seen him bent over the dead, seen him grieving so openly it hurt.

His expression had never done what it did in the corridor, her last words still echoing around them. She watched him curl in, somehow, without ever seeming to move, eyes shuttered for all that they remained open. He asked, quietly, as someone pushed through the door at his back, “What?”

Ahsoka blinked the stinging blur from her eyes. Nothing seemed quite real yet, it hadn’t all settled. She’d thought, told herself, that she’d be able to help Anakin, for so long, and-- “You were his Master,” she said, choking, “he trusted you, you should have tried to save him--”

And there were troopers there, then, in the hall with them. She watched two of them just - just catch Obi-Wan and only realized then that he’d swayed, staring forward, sightlessly. 

“What the kriff did you just say?” Stripes demanded, stepping in front of Obi-Wan, blocking him from her view, bristling, and they were all, every single one of them, radiating anger, fierce and jagged edged.

She took a step back, bracing, hands itching to reach for her lightsabers as Rex came through the door, a single piece of relief, even as he demanded to know what was happening. Stripes didn’t look away from Ahsoka to answer. “She said the General didn’t do enough to save Skywalker.”

It was odd, how the hall went quiet, then, just for an instant, before Cody said, tone harder than durasteel, “Rex. Take Commander Tano out of here.”

Obi-Wan’s voice was a surprise, small and rasping, “It’s al--”

“Now,” Cody cut in, and Ahsoka could see him gripping the doorframe, see a muscle jumping in his jaw, over and over again.

Rex only jerked out a nod, even though he didn’t have to take Cody’s orders anymore, stepping forward and taking her arm. She said, “I don’t--”

“We’ll talk about it later,” Rex said, quiet, close to her ear, and something about his emotions, pulled taunt with worry and concern, made her shut her jaw, her teeth closing with a little click. He said, without turning back, “We’ll just… be in our shuttle. For a while.”

Ahsoka waited until they were down the hall, around a corner, to hiss, “Rex, what the kriff--”

“Not here,” he gritted back, gaze moving to the side as they passed a trooper, who watched them with a curious expression. Rex refused to say anything else until they were through the airlock, into their little ship, and then he only said, sounding agonized, “Tell me you didn’t.”

Ahsoka blinked at him, feeling unnerved and on-edge. The sheer tension radiating out of everyone on the  _ Recompense  _ made it hard to think clearly. They were filling the Force up with their hurt and she had to work to keep it out. “Didn’t what?” she asked, stepping back from him and frowning. 

“Say that about--”

“Rex,” she cut in, shaking her head and spinning around the pilot’s chair so she could drop down into it, wishing she’d sent someone else to check this all out. “He - he was Anakin’s Master, he - if anyone should have been able--”

“Skywalker did this to them,” Rex said, quiet, leaning his shoulder against the wall, looking down and the to the side.

Ahsoka took a breath to recover and then said, “What?”

He jerked out a nod. “He - he took the 212th, from what I can tell. Kept them on Mustafar. And then he, well. Captured General Kenobi. And... “ He swallowed, loudly enough that she heard it, his hands in fists. “And…” 

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Anakin wouldn’t--”

“They weren’t lying to me.” There was a jagged edge in Rex’s voice, something she’d never heard much. “He spent months--”

“No,” Ahsoka repeated, because she’d kept a flame of hope burning inside her chest for three years. Knowledge that if she just - just got close enough, she could find a way. Bring Anakin back. Rescue him from the darkness he’d fallen into. 

Rex sighed, scrubbing a hand back over his head and moving forward, sinking down into the chair across from her. He reached out, after a moment, snagging her hand and threading their fingers together. When he looked up, his eyes were dark and shining.

“I know you don’t want to hear it,” he said, quietly, “but you need to. You’ve got to feel how they’re hurting.” She nodded, throat getting tight. She could feel the agony, had to work to keep it away, losing her grip on it as he sat there and spoke, quietly, trailing off sometimes, the words beating their way into her head.

And she tried to say “no” again, when he was finished. He’d leaned forward, back bowing as though he couldn’t bear the weight of what he’d learned, and she leaned forward to meet him, resting her forehead against his. She wanted to tell him he was wrong, but she’d known Anakin well, after all. Once upon a time. She’d seen him get angry, seen what that anger could drive him to, and she’d thought….

She said, “Sithspit,” into the space between them, and Rex nodded. She scrubbed at her face; it had been a long time since she rubbed at her cheeks and had her fingers come away wet. “What are we supposed to do for them?”

Rex sighed, staring down at their hands. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve never...dealt with anything like this.”

She thought about her last words to Obi-Wan, the way he’d looked at her, blank and distant and kriffing hell, if he was sitting in the  _ Recompense _ , thinking he should have saved the man who beat and raped and--and she swallowed, heavily. “Me either.”

He stroked his thumb across the side of her hand and said, “Guess we’ll figure it out together.” 


	15. Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for all past trauma. Attempt at suicide.

Cody stiffened down his spine when Rex and Ahsoka came back onboard the  _ Recompense _ . It should have been good to see one of his brothers again - to see another Jedi - but he hadn’t managed to be happy about it when they showed up. They were just another factor, something he couldn’t control, something he didn’t know how to predict.

And then Ahsoka had told Obi-Wan he should have done a better job saving kriffing Skywalker and--

Cody didn’t even know they were back on the  _ Recompense  _ until they turned around the corner that led to Obi-Wan’s room. It was, technically, morning. Cody’d slept a bit, on his feet. He’d tried, once or twice, to go bunk down, but…

But he never managed to keep his eyes closed very long, worries about Obi-Wan across the ship, in a room by himself, eating away at him if he tried. He could snag a few clicks of sleep leaning against the wall, confident he’d wake up if anything happened.

Usually, it was the sounds Obi-Wan made in his quarters that woke Cody.

He screamed, sometimes, in his sleep.

Rex and Ahsoka woke him, coming down the hall. He blinked to wakefulness, pushing away from the wall, glad he’d stayed close even as Ahsoka’s steps faltered. “Commander,” she said, glancing towards Rex and then back at him. She grimaced, looking miserable before she added, “I’m sorry. I didn’t--I’m just sorry. I wanted to…” she gestured at the door to Obi-Wan’s room. “Apologize.”

“He’s asleep,” Cody said, because Force knew Obi-Wan wasn’t sleeping enough - none of them were sleeping enough - and he wouldn’t interrupt that.

Ahsoka’s expression tensed further, mouth twisting and pressing thin. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, and said, softly, “He’s--not really, it’s…” She clenched and unclenched her hands, and said, raw, “It would be a kindness to wake him. But I - I may be able to help. Let him sleep better.”

Cody’d listened to Obi-Wan wake himself up screaming or - worse, somehow - trying to swallow screams back, for far too long. He swore, under his breath, and said, stepping forward to open the door, “Do it, then.”

Ahsoka didn’t hesitate, sliding into the room, the light flowing in around her. Obi-Wan was tangled in the sheets on his little bunk, jerking, just a little, making sounds too quiet to carry through the door, awful sounds, and--

“Sh,” Ahsoka said, sitting on the edge of the bunk, stretching a hand out, palm over his forehead. “Sh, sh, Master, it’s only a dream.”

Cody stood in the doorway, gripping the frame of it, and shivered down his back, watching Obi-Wan slowly go still, his breathing getting even and deeper, some of the lines around his eyes and mouth easing. His face was wet, catching the light, though his eyes remained closed as he settled.

Ahsoka didn’t make any move to get up off the bed or to take away her hand. She’d closed her eyes as well, expression set with determination. Cody wondered what, exactly, she was doing, but it hardly mattered.

It was helping. He could see it helping, soothing Obi-Wan in a way none of them had been able to accomplish. They’d found assistance. Someone to help, and--and Cody had promised - to himself - that he’d get his brothers and Obi-Wan out. That he’d save them.

He looked at Ahsoka, murmuring soft words with a lilting cadence, and realized that, perhaps, he’d done it. He exhaled shakily, turned on his heel, and walked away. 

# 

Rex waited, for a while, in the doorway to Kenobi’s quarters. He’d never seen Ahsoka soothe someone through a nightmare from this perspective before. He knew she’d done it for him, after - after the world fell apart. He’d woken up more than once to find his head resting against her leg, her palm cool over his forehead, all his nightmares kept away, at least for a few hours.

She had nightmares, too. He soothed them as best he could, without the benefit of the Force.

He lacked the ability to help soothe Kenobi, and he was fairly certain that if he made a move towards the bed he’d end up regretting it. Cody hadn’t been the only one of his brothers lingering around in the hall. They were all watching him, assessingly. He nodded, decided to leave the door open so they could keep an eye on their General, and took a breath.

He couldn’t help with Kenobi’s nightmares, but he’d seen the look on Cody’s face, before he left. It didn’t take more than a question to get a location for Cody’s quarters. Rex braced himself and went to find his brother.

Rex expected Cody’s door to be locked, when he arrived, but it opened at his touch. The space within was lit, revealing the little bunk and Cody, sitting on it, back to the door. Rex bit his tongue, hard, because Cody didn’t even turn to look at him, just...stared forward, blaster in hand and resting on his thigh.

Rex said, softly, “Hey, there.”

“Rex,” Cody said, voice flat and empty. He kept staring forward, even as Rex edged a step into the room, heart slamming against his ribs, blood burning in his veins. Rex had… anticipated something like this, after talking to Cody and the others in the mess.

He could remember, too easily, what had happened after they rescued Bly, after they pulled the chip out of his head, walking into his room the next morning and--and Rex hadn’t managed to get Ahsoka turned away before she saw the wall--

“Thought maybe we could grab some breakfast,” Rex said, with forced lightness. He’d made it far enough in to get a look at Cody’s expression and it was terrible. Blank and fixed, his face streaked with tears.

“You go ahead,” Cody said, and he had his finger curled around the trigger of the blaster, Rex noted, the cold in his gut spreading further. They’d all been trained, indoctrinated, not to draw their blaster unless they planned to shoot something.

“No, I’ll wait for you.” Rex shifted another step closer. He wondered, vaguely, if he could wrestle the blaster away. Cody had always been stronger than him, but Cody didn’t look up to struggling with anyone, at the moment. Then again, he knew better than most how stubborn his brothers could be, when they wanted to do something badly enough.

And he knew that Cody had - had broken that thing in his head, to get his way. He’d obviously lost none of his stubborn drive over the last three years.

Rex took another step, wetted his lips, and said, soft, “Why don’t you give that to me?”

Cody shook his head. He said, “I want you to look after him.”

“Yeah?” Rex edged nearer, close enough that he could grab Cody’s arm, if necessary. He didn’t bother asking who  _ him _ was. They both knew. Everyone on the ship knew. Kriff, everyone in the galaxy with eyes knew. “You know, he wants  _ you  _ looking after him.”

Cody made a short, sharp sound. He said, “No.”

Rex flexed his fingers in and out, tried to tell himself it was a good sign that Cody was willing to talk to him, that he hadn’t just jerked his arm up and pulled the trigger. He picked his words carefully, wishing he were better at this kind of thing. “He does. Come on. Give it to me, please. Don’t do this to him.”

Cody blinked, for the first time. “I’m doing this for him.”

Rex shuddered, down his back. He wished, for just a click, that Skywalker was still alive, just so Rex could make him pay for what he’d done. “He’s not going to appreciate it,” he said, quiet. “You know that. Ahsoka said he’s already blaming himself for what happened. He’ll blame himself, every day, if you do this. It’ll be more pain. More nightmares.”

Cody’s breath hitched, and Rex could identify a weak spot when he saw one. Kriff, everyone had always  _ known  _ where Cody’s was. Rex touched Cody’s shoulder, soft, and said, “He needs help, handling what happened. The Jedi - they’re like us, not meant to be alone. He needs--”

“Not from me,” Cody snapped back, quickly, more life coming into his voice.

Rex drew in a breath, trying to play this correctly. “Ahsoka says she can tell he--”

“Not from me,” Cody cut in, gritting the words out, each one bitten off, snapped. “I enjoyed it,” he added, gutted. “What I did. To him.”

Rex almost recoiled back, restraining the urge at the last moment. He tried to imagine the possibility of the words being true and found he couldn’t. “No,” he said, firm, “you didn’t.”

Cody looked up at him, finally, his eyes wide and full of bottomless anger and guilt. He snarled, “You weren’t there. I--” 

“You want to do it again, then?” Rex cut in, because they were getting somewhere, dragging Cody out of his head, out of whatever terrible pit he’d fallen into. And because the words needed said, probably. He continued, the words tearing like glass in his throat, even just saying them making his stomach ache with disgust, while Cody stared at him, “You could, you know. He looks like a strong breeze would knock him down. You could walk into his quarters right now and hold him down and--”

The wall caught Rex’s shoulders and the back of his head when Cody surged to his feet and shoved him back, hard. Rex saw stars, terribly aware of the fact that Cody was still holding the blaster, of Cody’s hand, pressed hard against his chest. Cody snarled, eyes blazing, “Don’t you kriffing  _ ever-- _ ”

“See?” Rex cut in, ignoring the pain, because getting Cody fully off the ledge he’d thrown himself onto was more important than a headache. Possibly a concussion.“You don’t want to. You never wanted to. Va--Skywalker raped him.” He stared across into Cody’s eyes, and gentled his voice. “Raped you, too, Cody.”

Cody flinched, looking to the side and keeping his hand where it was, terrible strength in him, for all that he was trembling, a bit. “You don’t understand. I--Obi-Wan didn’t--but I--finished--I--”

Rex swallowed, hard, second-hand agony moving through him. He reached up, slowly, and - when Cody didn’t twitch towards shooting him - gripped both of Cody’s shoulders, softly. He said, careful, “You can’t always help the things your body does. No, you can’t, not even - even without the chip. Some things just - just happen. That doesn’t mean you wanted it.” He slid one hand down, towards the blaster in Cody’s hand. “It’s not your fault.”

Cody gritted out, “That’s what Obi-Wan says.”

Rex nodded, reaching the blaster, feeling the tension in Cody’s hand. He was gripping it far too tightly for Rex to just strip it away. He said, gentling, in a way he’d only learned how to be because Ahsoka had needed it, so much, after the war, “Well, he’s right.”

Cody shook his head, sounding hoarse when he said, “He says it’s his fault.”

That was a whole other nightmare, Rex considered. Hopefully one that Ahsoka would be able to help with, because Rex had no idea how to go about addressing it. “And he’s wrong about that.”

“Commander Tano having this conversation with him?” Cody asked, as though picking up the slant of Rex’s thoughts. It felt odd, to hear him call her by her rank, after so long without them, but Rex got the feeling they were all hanging onto the scraps of structure they had left behind, trying to keep the world held together, desperately.

And so he offered no correction, only said, “She might be. But she’s not the one he needs to hear it from. He’s not going to believe  _ her _ .”

Cody grimaced. Rex got an up-close look at the expression. “Rex--”

“We all know how he feels about you,” Rex interrupted, because he could see chinks in the armor, and because he thought his heart might break through his ribs if he didn’t get the blaster away from Cody sooner rather than later. He felt Cody freeze, sucking in a breath and holding it. “It never was a secret.”

“He doesn’t anymore,” Cody said, voice broken, and Rex ached for him. “He can’t. Not after what I did.”

“Ahsoka says otherwise,” Rex said, a lie, because he and Ahsoka hadn’t discussed...that. But Rex didn’t need Jedi intel to see the truth of it. He’d watched the way Kenobi looked at Cody, yearning, full of hurt and the barest glimmers of hope, all at once, when they were around one another, yesterday. He’d seen Kenobi reach towards Cody, multiple times, only to draw back.

Cody dropped his head, gritting out, “Don’t.”

Rex pressed his advantage, such as it was. “Why is that so hard for you to believe? You’re still in love with him, aren’t you?” 

Cody flinched back, away from him. “That’s not--”

Rex followed, focus split between Cody’s curved shoulders and the blaster, insisting, “Aren’t you?” Cody let out a terrible sound, not much of a reply, and Rex continued, testing each word, “Kriff, you broke your brain to help him. You killed Skywalker for him. Are you  _ really  _ going to let him suffer now because you want to take all the blame for something that wasn’t your fault?”

Cody looked up at him, slowly, eyes shining, face streaked with tears. Rex reached out towards the blaster. “They made us tools. They tried to kill us. They - they abused you and tortured you. You and him. But you lived. He lived. Because you  _ had each other _ . You  _ beat them _ , Cody, because you had him and he had you. Don’t let them win, now. Please.”

He restrained a relieved cry when Cody’s fingers loosened around the blaster. Rex stripped it from his hand, ejected the clip, threw the clip to the side, and then sagged back, breathing raggedly as he leaned against the wall, pulse pounding against his skin.

“Kriffing hell,” he said, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth, adrenaline still burning him up. He hadn’t been sure how things were going to play out, hadn’t been fully confident that Cody was going to hand over the blaster without a fight. He drew in a deep breath and reached out, curling an arm around Cody’s shoulder and pulling him in.

“You scared the fuck out of me,” he said, Cody going stiff for just a moment before he slumped. “But it’s alright,” Rex said, because he’d come back from the chip. They’d all taken the first step to coming back, and Rex could help them travel the rest of the way. He wasn’t going to lose any more of his brothers. Not if he could help it. He tipped his head against Cody’s, and said, “We’re going to get through this.”

And standing there, just for a few moments, he tried not to think about the fact that everyone else on the  _ Recompense  _ probably needed to hear the same thing. Well. He’d be there to tell them. As many times as they needed to hear it.

He hoped, though, that Ahsoka managed to help General Kenobi. It would probably come across better, coming from him.

“I don’t know what to do,” Cody said, voice all emptied out, shredded, and Rex wasn’t sure that he’d ever expected to hear  _ Cody  _ admit that. Not even at the end of the war, when they’d both been tattered and shredded by constant loss. 

Cody had always known what to do.

Rex shuddered. He said, “Well, sleeping would be a good start. When was the last time you did that?”

Cody shook his head, which wasn’t an answer, and said, “I need to go make sure Obi-Wan is alright.”

“He’s fine,” Rex said, relieved, in a way, that Cody had switched tracks back to worrying about Kenobi. It meant he was another step further away from going for a blaster. He doubted the fixation was strictly healthy, but… “Ahsoka is looking after him.” But Cody was already pulling away, expression drawn and tense, and Rex had learned to pick his battles long ago.

He followed Cody back through the halls. They weren’t, he noticed, very far at all from Kenobi’s rooms. The door was still open. A half-dozen of their brothers were lingering around, without making any pretense for their presence, just… keeping an eye on things.

Rex nodded at them as Cody stepped up to the door, peering in. 

Obi-Wan slept still, rolled onto his side, and he looked more like himself asleep, some of the lines erased from his face. Ahsoka sat on the side of the bed, her elbows on her knees and her head hanging down, turned to one side.

She looked up at their shadows in the doorway, her face streaked with tears, and Rex didn’t need to ask what she’d seen in the dreams. He could guess. “He’ll sleep for at least half a day,” she said, her voice raspy, when Cody drifted a step into the room, moving like a sleepwalker. 

“There won’t be nightmares?” Cody asked, voice quiet as well. He started to reach out, towards Obi-Wan’s shoulder, and caught himself, drawing back.

Ahsoka cleared her throat. “Shouldn’t be,” she said, scrubbing at her cheeks. She stood, curling an arm around her chest, looking smaller, all at once. Cody nodded and then, without another word, sank down to sit beside the bed, shoulders pressing against the mattress. “Oh,” she said, “you don’t have to--”

“Just in case,” he said, drawing a knee up, arm resting across it.

Ahsoka opened her mouth, and Rex reached out, curling fingers around her elbow, squeezing pointedly when she looked over at him. “Of course,” she said, after a moment, and reached her hand out, carefully, fingertips brushing across Cody’s brow.

Rex watched him frown, just for a moment, but he was most of the way to asleep already. It barely took a nudge to send him the rest of the way down, his head dropping back against the mattress, his eyes falling closed.

“Get some rest,” Rex said, quietly, tugging Ahsoka a step back. He promised Cody’s sleeping form, “We’ll look after them.”

#

Nightmares had plagued Cody for as long as he could remember. Even before the chips, he’d had ill dreams. Most of his brothers had, he knew. Dreams of battle and blood and death. Dreams where they turned on their Jedi and executed them, calm and sure and--

Cody had always had nightmares.

They’d just gotten worse, lately. He hadn’t slept much, since Mustafar. When he had, memories and twisted horrors moved through his mind. He dreamed of Obi-Wan, hunched in a corner, bloody and--

And he woke up with a jerk, in a room that felt strange, his heart threatening to rip apart in his chest. There was a hand on his shoulder, familiar, Obi-Wan saying, “--up, Cody--”

For a moment, the dream and the waking world blended all together, disjointed and confusing. In the dream, he’d been unable to control himself, but he could move his body again, abruptly, the way he wanted to, and Obi-Wan was right there, crouching beside him, radiating concern, and--

There was no thought to Cody grabbing him, his nerves all burning with alarm, with a need to make Obi-Wan safe. Cody pulled Obi-Wan closer and twisted, putting him against the bed. Cody curled his shoulders over, sure, in the confused mess left behind by the nightmares, that a blow was about to fall, ready for his own fist to come down against his back.

It didn’t land, and he blinked, after a beat, the nightmare washing out of his head. Later, he’d realize Obi-Wan probably had a hand in that, pulling it out of his mind and releasing it. It left him shivering, braced, with an arm curled around Obi-Wan, pushed close and into his space, and--

Horror made him jerk back. He’d just grabbed Obi-Wan, without so much as a by-your-leave, put hands on him again. His gut twisted, hard, bitterness flooding his mouth. He made to pull away totally, only to freeze into place when a snag of pressure made him realize that Obi-Wan had, for some reason, grabbed his shirt, fingers clenched tight, holding on.

Cody stared at his grip, for a moment. Obi-Wan’s knuckles were white against his skin. Desperate, just for a moment, before Obi-Wan released his grip, pulling his hand back and turning his face away, panting out, “I’m sorry.”

Cody’s gut twisted, terrible, and he said, “Don’t, you don’t have to--” 

“I do. I know,” Obi-Wan said, his eyes focused on the far wall. He looked… better, Cody noticed, with a lurch in his chest. There was some trace of color in his cheeks. “I know you don’t want to touch me, I know, I’m sorry, for--” he dragged in a breath, strangling himself off. 

Memories sleeted back through Cody’s head, all at once. He’d… almost put a blaster against the side of his head, hadn’t he? Would have done, and happily pulled the trigger, if Rex hadn’t found him.

He shuddered, swallowing hard, trying to focus on the present moment. He was sitting on the floor of Obi-Wan’s quarters, the door open almost directly across from him. The lights were dim and he ached in approximately a dozen places, both from old wounds and the position he’d slouched into while sleeping.

None of that seemed to matter very much with Obi-Wan saying:  _ I know you don’t want to touch me _ . 

And Rex had - had said all kinds of things, only half of which Cody actually remembered clearly, the previous day had been a blur, but… “I do,” he said, fighting to force the words out, watching Obi-Wan blink towards him, control of his expression slipping. “I want to--make you safe. But I,  _ fuck _ . I hurt you, Obi-Wan, I--”

“It wasn’t you,” Obi-Wan started, again, and Cody shook his head, hard, knowing he should shift back, give Obi-Wan more space, but…. But the door was open, and Cody itched, all down his spine, and he could restrain himself, but keeping his body between Obi-Wan and everything else made things easier.

He said, hoarse, “But I still remember doing it.” Obi-Wan went still. Cody felt it happen, felt him suck in a breath and hold it. “I remember hitting you. I remember what it felt like to - to force you, and  _ I  _ failed you,” Cody said, the past dragging at him, his voice ruined. “I hurt you. I -- couldn’t stop. I--” And he could almost see Obi-Wan gearing up to disagree, to try to take all the blame for everything onto his own shoulders, Rex’s words echoing in his ears and--

“No,” Obi-Wan said, reaching towards him again and stopping, his hand just frozen there, fingers outstretched, and Cody could read need in his expression, there and gone and buried. “Please, Cody, I should have--”

“Don’t,” Cody bit out, because he wasn’t sure he could actually bear to listen to Obi-Wan trying to blame himself for what had happened again. And he knew, bone-deep, that Obi-Wan was never going to agree that it was his fault. He’d fight, tooth and nail, over it, punishing himself for - for everything Skywalker had done. 

Cody shifted, made a choice, thinking about Rex reminding him of things he already knew, that the Jedi weren’t meant to be alone, and lifted a hand, slowly, towards Obi-Wan’s. He went slow, gave Obi-Wan plenty of time to jerk away, and Obi-Wan made a gutted, punched out sound when Cody brushed their fingers together.

Obi-Wan jerked towards him, not away, fingers clenching around Cody’s, tight, as Cody said, “It’s not your fault Skywalker tortured you. Us.”

Obi-Wan froze in the middle of opening his mouth, eyes going wide, shiny in the dark room. “It’s not,” Cody kept going, words catching at his tongue and his teeth, “your responsibility. What he did to all of us. You’re not to blame. How could you have stopped him?”

Obi-Wan blinked, flinching, as though perhaps he’d searched his own mind and fabricated some ways he could have possibly done the impossible. Cody shifted his grip, bringing his other hand up, palm pressed to the back of Obi-Wan’s hand. “It’s not,” Cody repeated, quietly, as Obi-Wan stared across at him, eyes wide and stunned, “your fault.”

Obi-Wan exhaled, shakily, his skin cool as he shifted his fingers, just a little. Cody asked, swallowing, bracing, “Is this alright?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, quickly, before his expression shuttered just a little. “But you don’t have to--”

“Obi-Wan,” Cody tried to find the words to explain the ball of pressure in his chest, the knot that refused to ease, worry and tension and a driving need to make Obi-Wan alright, and-- There was no way to speak it into being, he didn’t know how. He shook his head, instead, and rasped, “I want - if you want - I  _ need-- _ ”

And maybe something he said made sense, or maybe Obi-Wan had just always known him well enough to decipher the things he couldn’t say, because Obi-Wan shifted, tugging his hand free; Cody released his grip, worried that he’d squeezed too hard, that he’d hurt Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan took a little breath, met his gaze, and reached his hand forward, towards Cody’s shoulder. He stopped, a breath away, and asked, “You need this?”

Cody jerked out a nod, shamed to need it, to ask, to expect Obi-Wan to excuse what he’d done, but--

But he could not help the way his shoulders curled over, when Obi-Wan touched him, radiating soothing peace towards him, emotions curling around him, and none of them hurt, it was impossible--

“Sh,” Obi-Wan said, hand sliding to his back, tugging, just a little, and Cody heard the broken noise that came out of his own throat as Obi-Wan shifted closer to him, murmuring, so soft, “Cody, it’s alright.”

Cody made a harsh sound, half-disagreement, but it was muffled because he seemed to have pressed his face against the side of Obi-Wan’s head. His hands shook as he curled an arm up, careful, around Obi-Wan’s back.

Obi-Wan exhaled, ragged, and Cody had not expected him to collapse forward, to grip tight, holding on as Cody made a nonsense sound, holding him carefully, waiting to wake up from this dream, or to have it warp into something awful and nightmarish.

Cody squeezed his eyes closed, wondering if Obi-Wan had needed this all along, if he’d failed, again, and--

And he set all those thoughts aside, for at least a while, curling his other arm around Obi-Wan, holding him there, on the floor, until it stopped feeling like a dream.


	16. Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S THE END, WE GOT THERE. Pretty much no warnings for this one,

Comfort came in many shapes. Dreamless sleep was one of the first true comforts Obi-Wan received in so long. Obi-Wan had known it would help, and he thanked Ahsoka for the gift of it, when he finally left his quarters, Cody at his side, a hand now resting against his side. He could feel the point of contact settling Cody’s emotions, a piece of reassurance, physical, that he was there and alright.

Ahsoka looked miserable, when Obi-Wan thanked her, shame tinging her signature through the Force. She only felt worse when he assured her that he was fine, and so he left it. 

Sleep helped. Talking with Cody helped more, feeling some of the agony drain out of him made it easier for Obi-Wan to breathe as the day stretched onwards, as they cut across the black to meet up with this rebellion of Ahsoka’s.

#

The troopers watched him, when he went to the mess to get breakfast, such as it was. Their emotions curled against him, worry and concern and all the things Cody felt, written across all of their minds.

He sat with them and ate, talking, and reached out, hesitantly, to grip Crys’ shoulder after he finished. Crys froze, for just a moment, and then reached up, fingers brushing Obi-Wan’s wrist and--

Oh.

The emotions swirling around and through them didn’t disappear, didn’t ease, magically, into nothing. But they settled, somewhat, became less ragged. Cody watched him, close by - always close by - and Obi-Wan nodded at him with a smile that didn’t hurt, quite so much.

#

Obi-Wan watched Rex move among the troopers, throughout the day, speaking with them in quiet voices. He could track Rex without even looking, without being in the same room, because flares of emotion followed him everywhere he went.

Ahsoka, he noted, did not mingle so freely. She stayed near the bridge, feeling tense and guilty when Obi-Wan made his way back. There were things he knew he ought to say, to explain, but it felt difficult to say them, with a dozen troopers in the room.

He noticed, awake enough to process it, that they never left him completely alone. There were always a few in any room, even if they weren’t talking to him, even if they weren’t looking at him. 

They felt...eased, in the Force, when he initiated conversations, when he reached out and touched them, shoulders or backs, even if it cut up into them at the same time.

#

“Finally,” Bones said, late in the day, when Obi-Wan went to the medical bay. He felt… well enough, but it was easier to recall that Cody had been gut-shot, not long ago, with his head no longer so clouded. Cody seemed intent on following him; he followed all the way to the med-bay, and into Bones’ frowning care.

Cody shot Obi-Wan a look, even as Bones grumbled him over onto a bed, plucking at his blacks. “I’m fine,” Cody insisted with a little scowl, and Bones rolled his eyes eloquently, lifting the bacta patch over his stomach.

“Have you been changing this yourself?” he said, scowl getting fiercer, and Obi-Wan turned, planning to give them some privacy, before Cody jerked a hand towards him, freezing before he closed fingers around Obi-Wan’s wrist.

Obi-Wan hesitated, for just a moment, and then inhaled, exhaled, eased back and covered Cody’s hand with his.

He sat still, through Bones’ ministrations, his emotions unknotting a little with each cautious breath he took.

#

“You’ve helped so much,” Obi-Wan said, after a quiet evening meal, standing beside Rex, who was staring out a viewport with a haunted look on his face. His emotions felt raw, flayed open, and Obi-Wan winced, leaning a shoulder against the wall. “How are you doing?”

Rex didn’t blink for a long moment, and then shook himself hard, looking over. “General,” he said, scrubbed a hand over his face, “I’m not doing much.”

“Yes, you are,” Obi-Wan said, managing a smile. “They’re doing so much better, it’s--”

“Don’t think that’s much because of me,” Rex said, mouth crooking, rueful and tired. He gave Obi-Wan a pointed look that was indecipherable. Obi-Wan blinked at him, and Rex shook his head. He said, “Nevermind. You should get some rest, General.”

And resting, Obi-Wan thought, might be a problem, once more, but Ahsoka followed him into his quarters and sat on the side of his bed, eyes sad when he said, “Really, I’m not a youngling, you don’t need to--”

“I want to,” she said, fingers soft across his brow, “just let me help you, this time.”

And he slept, dreamless and deep, and when he woke up, Cody was wedged into the chair by his bed, chin bent forward against his chest, brow furrowed, his hand on the sheets, fingers stretched towards Obi-Wan’s, but not touching.

#

They visited a planet, days later, deep in Wild Space, where Ahsoka said they’d meet some members of the rebellion, and found a market there. Obi-Wan winced at the idea of taking Ahsoka’s credits to buy clothes that fit, but she insisted. And it did feel good, to pull on robes of tan and cream, almost, but not quite, the uniform he’d worn for so many years.

He looked at himself in a reflection, afterwards, and almost recognized what he saw. 

Cody did a double-take upon seeing him - he’d bought clothes, too, well… armor, to be more precise - and Obi-Wan crooked him a smile, asked, “What do you think?”

“Looks good,” Cody said, without a pause to consider, and Obi-Wan looked away, swallowing. He doubted, very much, that was true, but… But it felt like a step towards normal, a step back to himself. 

He liked having boots again, anyway.

#

Ahsoka’s rebel friends were a motley mix, the old and young, those who remembered what the Republic had been and those who had never known it in anything but dreams. One of them recognized Obi-Wan - somehow - and blurted, looking surprised, “General Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan crooked his mouth, nodding; it felt different, when the troopers called him by his title. It stung, hearing it from some stranger with wide, hungry eyes. “We heard you were dead,” the man said, taking a step towards him, looking him up and down.

“Not yet,” Obi-Wan said, tensing when the man reached out towards him and--

“We should discuss your resources,” Cody said, flat, easing a step forward, in front of Obi-Wan, his shoulders a hard, straight line. “And what you’ve been doing so far, against the Empire.”

The man’s smile froze in place, just for a moment, but he eased back, and Obi-Wan breathed easier, reaching out to touch Cody’s back, tapping a thank-you against his armor. Tensions were higher than he liked through the meeting, but, in the end, the experience they brought to the table carried the day.

Too few of the people in the rebellion had ever fought a war.

He let them keep calling him General. Perhaps, he thought, it was a title he needed to wear, at least for a while longer. For everyone in the galaxy, not just the troopers. And, anyway, they agreed to put him in touch with someone who could provide him with a prosthetic arm.

#

There was a comfort to familiarity, too. Obi-Wan had felt that, even on Tatooine, growing used to his little hut, to the sand and the heat. The  _ Recompense _ grew familiar, over time. She’d never replace the  _ Negotiator _ , but she… filled a gap.

She must have for the troopers, as well. They stayed with the ship, planned their missions - there were so many missions to plan - from her halls. And, when one of the higher ranking members of the rebellion suggested they give her up, Obi-Wan said, “No, I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

His men had lost enough. They weren’t going to lose anymore.

Besides, there was plenty of room in her halls for more troopers, as they started hitting bases on the edges of the Empire, freeing the lost and the trapped, those enslaved in their own heads.

He watched, as time passed, the way the survivors of the 212th took their brothers in, soothed them, held them through the inevitable nightmares and the horror, and felt warmth spread through him, deep and true.

#

And there was comfort, too, in looking over and finding Cody by his side, as they liberated outposts, pushed back Imperial forces, and undid the great wrongs done across the galaxy. There was comfort in soothing Cody when nightmares woke him, as so often they did, in listening to the words that spilled forth from him, when he could not contain them anymore, in threading their fingers together, holding his hand.

There’d been damage done to all of them, deep and terrible, but Obi-Wan knew how to heal from such injuries. He showed the others, as best he could, feeling them fight towards healing just as diligently as they’d fought for everything else the galaxy tried to deny them.

Anakin had captured him, brought him in alone and with no one. And he would have died, slowly and in agony, had he remained alone. But Anakin had brought his men, too. Put them together.

And together, they’d always been stronger than they were apart.

He considered that, standing on the bridge of the  _ Recompense _ , looking over at Cody as he frowned at the next base they planned to assault. “You’re thinking loudly,” Cody said, after a moment, glancing up at him. “Everything alright?”

“It will be,” Obi-Wan said, quiet; his voice had never returned, not fully. He’d stopped waiting for it. Cody shifted, concern ever and always on his face and in his emotions. Obi-Wan reached out to him and he reached back, automatic, fingers threading together.

Obi-Wan could shift closer to him without feeling his heart lurch into his throat, could lean against his side, enjoying the warmth of it, the warmth inside his emotion, curling close. Cody made a soft sound, his other arm curling around, and Obi-Wan closed his eyes, just for a moment, resting close to him and feeling, even if he knew the feeling would not last forever, safe.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Holding My Breath (Makes Me Choke)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27652955) by [LovesFrogs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovesFrogs/pseuds/LovesFrogs)




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